This Should Be Alluring
by Monsieur Prongs
Summary: A series of shorts, one shots, drabbles, or whatever you'd like to call them. Some take place before Sherlock and John meet, and some take place after. Follows 'This Should Be Intriguing' but stands alone.
1. Broken Strings

_Sherlock Age: 28_

Sherlock is playing peacefully, his bow gliding softly across the violin strings. Sometimes it's good to night have a case to work on and to compose music instead. He closes his eyes with pleasure and adds another measure of beautiful notes to his song. He pauses and places the violin in his lap and picks up a pencil to fill in the last few notes on a mangled piece of paper that sits in front of him. He hums a bit, swings the bow in the air and then places his instrument under his chin again. With a few more hummed notes he begins to play again, picking up where he left off. Nothing can break this moment of tranquility, one of the few ever witnessed by anyone, these moments are gold, rare and precious. He smiles, a genuine smile, the first in a few weeks. Sherlock continues to play, sending the notes floating through the air. There's a polite knock at the door, but Sherlock pretends not to hear and keeps playing. The knock persists, getting louder and louder each time it is repeated. Sherlock pauses mid-note to take a moment and think.

"I locked the door yes? Yes. Good." And then resumed his playing like nothing had happened. The knocks cease for a moment, only to be turned into banging. Sherlock's smile widens as he keeps playing, ignoring the banging. Suddenly the door springs open spilling Mycroft and several other people onto the floor.

"SHERLOCK!" Mycroft shouts at him as he stands up and dusts himself off, helping D.I. Lestrade to his feet who in turn helps the rest up. Sherlock stops playing and adds the notes to his composition. He looks up at the group standing in his flat.

"What?" He asks it in such a way that makes the others feel like they're intruding. Mycroft doesn't buy it for one second.

"You know very well what!" Sherlock rolls his eyes and places the violin back under his chin,

"You want me to leave the flat." Lestrade steps forward, glaring at Sherlock,

"We have a case that we need your help with."

"So you bring my brother into it? Here's an idea," he pauses and strums a few strings, "since you've finally get him out of wherever he was before, you get him to solve it for you. I'm in the middle of something unless you couldn't tell." Mycroft gives him a stern look,

"Sherlock."

"Are you dieting, again?" Mycroft glares,

"No."

"That explains it. Now would you all leave? I have some music to compose." It's Lestrade's turn to glare.

"Sherlock-" A man from the back of the group steps forward,

"Are you not going to help us? Do you know how selfish that is?"

"Anderson, step back, you just tagged along. This isn't your fight."

"With all due respect, I think it is. People are dying while this case is open." Anderson turns back to Sherlock, "Just so I've got this right, you don't care about that do you?" Sherlock raises an eyebrow,

"Should I?"

"YES! These are people, actually human people."

"Dull." Mycroft looks positively livid. He wrenches the violin from under Sherlock's chin and breaks it across his knee. The strings make pitiful sounds as their body breaks. The room is silent and everyone looks at Sherlock who is sitting in his chair completely still, every muscle in his body tenses and his eyes flash. Mycroft looks at the mangled instrument in his hands and then at Sherlock. He recognizes that look, the look of loathing, pure hate, and anger on his brother's face. He offers a small smile then turns and races out of the room after dropping the broken violin on the floor. As soon as Mycroft is out of sight Sherlock bolts from his chair and races after him, mouth held tightly closed against verbal assault. Not enough.

"I WILL KILL YOU!" He shouts down the stairs as Mycroft disappears from sight. He rams his hands against the stair rail and angrily makes his way back to his flat where Lestrade and this new bloke Anderson are still standing. Anderson has the nerve to ask,

"Does that mean you're not helping then?" Sherlock spins on the newcomer,

"What do you think?" his voice is dangerous and low. Anderson involuntarily takes a step back,

"I'll take that as a no. You should calm down I think."

"Do you think? I'm not bloody helping Lestrade! Not until you get me a new violin. Get the _Hell_ out of my flat and take this loyal pup with you!" He throws himself into the chair so forcefully it scoots back a few inches and nearly topples over. Sherlock doesn't say a word when the two men and the rest of the group leaves, closing the door behind them.

_Several hours later_

Lestrade lets himself in, followed by Anderson. He holds out a case to Sherlock who hasn't moved. He's glaring at the wall opposite of him, still.

"Have you got it?" He asks finally, never once taking his eyes off of a particular spot on the wall.

"Here." Lestrade places it at his feet and then backs up. Sherlock's gaze shifts to Anderson and Lestrade,

"Data. Give me data." Lestrade is visibly relived and quickly fills Sherlock in.

"You'll need to go down to Bart's."

"Molly's working tonight." Sherlock gets up and angrily brushes past the pair. At the top of the stairs Sherlock turns to the pair of men, "Anderson is it? I don't want to see you in my flat again."

"Wha-? What did I do?" Sherlock seems to ponder the question a minute,

"I just don't like you." And then he's gone.

"Yeah, he's always like that." Anderson nods and follows Lestrade down the stairs. Two can play at that game.

Sherlock throws open the doors of the morgue, startling Molly. She turns around,

"Sherlock? You alright?" He waves a hand in the air to dismiss the question. "Sherlock?"

"Just show me the bodies Molly." he says, anger dripping off of every word he utters. Molly's eyes widen and she steps back a bit,

"Right. Sorry. Here." She rolls out a table and unzips the black bag. Sherlock seems to realize that he's scared her and looks at her,

"Not your fault. My brother-" he cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. "You know what? It doesn't matter. Broke my violin." He glares at the dead body sitting before him. "I hate you. You got my violin broken. I would kill you if you weren't dead already." Molly takes the liberty to back out of the room leaving Sherlock with the dead body. 'Don't get Sherlock Holmes mad' she thought, 'It's not a pretty sight.'


	2. Hello Again

_Sherlock_

John asked if I wanted to go for a walk, just a few times around the block, or a walk to the park.

"Happily." He smiled at me and got his coat.

"Thanks Sherlock, I need some air, thought you might want to join me."

"I'm glad you asked. I was just about to ask you if you wanted to pop out." He smiles again and holds the door for me as I put my own coat on. We walk in silence, hands in our pockets, watching our breath turn into puffy clouds and drift away on the wind. "Thanks John."

"For what?"

"Everything. For sharing a flat with me, for not being an idiot, and for asking me to come on this walk with me."

"Oh, it's no problem Sherlock. Really." I nod.

"I don't know many people like you."

"Is that a complement?" He chuckles, I shrug.

"Maybe."

"Here." He gestures to a bench and takes a seat facing the road. I join him and stare out into the bustling streets of London.

"Look at that John. All those people, so oblivious, unaware. Isn't it ridiculous?"

"Yeah Sherlock, yeah. It is." A London bus pulls up in front of us and obscures the view of the street. Instead I focus on the people in the windows. Old woman, limping man, a child running away from home. Obviously, the way he keeps looking over his shoulder and pulling up the bag on his shoulder. A writer, a cat lov- wait. That girl, that girl in the window. What's her name? Hannah? I stand up and make for the bus, I need to talk to her. "Sherlock?"

"Sorry John, I've got to see someone, get a cab home, I'll see you in a few hours." He starts to protest as I race across the street to reach the bus before it departs. I just make it, and the doors close behind me. I push past the people that crowd the aisle way. Seven windows down. The teenager sits, turned toward the black haired teen sitting next to her, deep in conversation.

"No, you see Michael, that's the genius of it! Because as soon as it ends, the whole thing starts all over again and you get exactly the same amount of time to fix it before it starts all over! It's a time loop! Absolute genius!"

"Yeah, but can you see the complications, you have to fix it to be able to get out of the loop, but each loop is exactly the same as the last one, and you can't change that." Hannah nods her head and waves a hand in the air, dismissing the impossible and throwing her battered notebook in his face.

"Look! I've worked it all out! I'm a genius and I'll prove it. Time isn't how everyone thinks, and the things that are in flux, you can change that! The time loop is in flux, therefore, once someone knows they are in a loop, they find the way to make it so they get out. It's complicated."

"Hannah-"

"It's perfect! Don't-"

"Hannah!" Michael says louder, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her to look at me.

"Oh."

"Hello Hannah." She sticks her hand out,

"It's a pleasure to see you again Sherlock." Michael's jaw drops,

"You mean-? I thought you'd made that up!" Hannah grins,

"Sherlock, this is my friend Michael. See, I was telling the truth. It's odd how no one believes me anymore." Michael sticks his hand out,

"I'm Michael. Hannah told me about you. I thought you were making it up." I smile,

"So I gathered. Can I sit here?" I nod to the empty seat next to them. Hannah nods, smiling and moves her school bag. I take a seat.

"Thought you only liked cabs." It's Michael.

"What gave you that impression?"

"Well the way you have almost no cash. I saw you fumbling up front, like you didn't function well with the driver." Wait. That's my thing! He can't just- Apparently he's not finished. "What'd you do this time? Burn yourself?"

"What?"

"The burns on your fingers, what kind of experiment were you doing?"

"I was using-"

"Hydrochloric acid."

"Yeah." I shut up. This isn't how I work. Michael grins at me and hands Hannah a pen.

"Do me now."

"What?"

"Do me! What can you tell about me?" I glance over him, taking in every detail.

"You were in a military program at your school."

"Very good."

"But you haven't attended, your hair's growing out. And I think Hannah likes it better longer." She grins again from her seat before continuing to scribble madly in her notebook. "You're a writer too, and I think that's how you two first met. Sort of. You moved here a year ago, but you still don't know your way around all that well, you've got a map sticking out of your pocket. You play the piano. You have two cats and maybe a bit over protective parents. You act a bit, like Hannah. You two talk a lot, which is why she didn't brush you off too badly when you contradicted her idea. You're friends, pretty good friends. And if I'm not mistaken, which I rarely am, you two are headed to her house. Why else would you be carrying around a flash drive. You just got out of school-"

"Yeah, about that-"

"Or you skipped today to go the cafe at the end of the road. You're carrying around a laptop and several notebooks and that suggests that you have several things going on in your head right now, or you would probably only have one. You have several siblings, all are older though so you are usually at the house by yourself, which is why you're going to Hannah's place. Should I go on?" Michael is smiling at me.

"I think you've covered pretty much everything. That is amazing."

"Of course it is." Hannah looks up,

"You're a lot less modest than I remember you." I smile again. Teenagers.

"Life's treating you good yeah? And your friend?"

"Absolutely, but you knew that."

"It's obvious by the amount of writing you did, and that fact that the smile hasn't left your face since the moment I saw you from the bus window five minutes ago."

"Seriously?" I nod. She's certainly happier than the last time I saw her. That seems like ages ago. A chance meeting in an elevator, a small, five minute conversation, and now she's glowing.

"What's made you so happy though?"

"Honestly? I don't know."

"You've found a friend."

"Yes."

"You didn't know him before did you?"

"Not really. I mean we saw each other didn't we? We didn't really talk until after I went to the cafe. That was right after meeting you actually." Hannah looks out the window behind me and smiles wider, "Sherlock, someone's chasing the bus. Looks like their looking for you." I glance behind me to see John, chasing after the bus, his arms waving and a look that says, 'get your arse out here or I will beat it to the ground- I turn back to the two teens and smile sheepishly. He's going to kill me.

"Sorry. My flatmate appears to be chasing the bus. That means I should probably..."

"Yeah. No problem. It was nice meeting you Sherlock."

"It was nice seeing you again. Maybe another time? I've heard that there are no coincidences. What do you think?" I shake my head.

"I don't know." Standing up, I take my leave and head for the front of the bus once it's stopped. I exit quickly, pulling my coat around me as the cool air of winter hits me. The bus had been warm. Er. I didn't realize the coldness earlier.

"Sorry John, I just saw someone I know and I wanted to talk a bit. You look upset, what's happened? You chased a bus."

"Sherlock! Answer your damn phone! That's why you have one! Lestrade wants you. Says it's important, a case or something like that." I sigh, letting out a puff of air.

"Never a dull moment. Come on."

* * *

_Hey everyone. Welcome back! There wasn't even a break. How cool is that? Well welcome back all the same. And to newcomers, welcome welcome welcome. Hope you enjoy all of this, everything that is to follow and everything in the past. The mention of Hannah came from an earlier fic entitled, 'The Things you find in Elevators' inside the set of drabbles called, 'This Should Be Intriguing'. But that's if you want to know everything about her. Her friend is new, thanks to VenganceAuthor for giving me the idea this morning. Hope you enjoyed this. If you want me to write any of your ideas, or anything like that, just PM me the idea and I'll write it, if I deem it awesome enough and get enough inspiration for it. Good luck. Have fun. Be safe. Have a wonderful week. I know I won't._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	3. Short

_John_

The first thing I notice when I open the door is Sherlock. He has his back to the door and is fiddling with something on the wall. In the wall actually.

"What-?

"Security cameras. Mycroft had them installed." This stumps me.

"And so you're disabling them?"

"I don't want him spying on me."

"And?"

"He'll get upset and install them again. Oh well. I'll just sit inside all day. He's getting better at hiding them. Took me two days to find this one. You're lucky I found it though." This confuses me even more.

"Why?"

"Because. Do you _like _when Mycroft knows everything about your life?"

"No."

"Exactly."


	4. A Tale of Fear

_Sherlock Age:12_

Something is in his bed, he can feel it crawling around on his stomach. He doesn't look. He knows what it is. He feels remorse for pissing Mycroft off earlier. He knew it was a bad idea, but at the time, making Mycroft mad was one of the only ways to stop being bored. There's something else in his bed too. And another one. He stares up at the ceiling, breathing hard and trying not to tremble too much. He blinks rapidly and slowly pulls his covers off, exposing the intruder. It meanders slowly up his stomach to his chest and sits there, blinking at him. Another one makes it's way over his leg and rests on his knee, just sitting there. A third scrambles up his hand. He squeezes his eyes shut and resists the urge to scream, that would only alarm them. 'I'm going to kill him.' he thinks before his mind takes over and runs in circles from fear. More of the pests craw up on the sides of his bed and mob his small frame, getting tangled in his curls and sheets.

_The next morning_

"Sherlock?" Mycroft calls up the stairs, a secret smile inside. That's the last time Sherlock will ever rearrange his things. "Sherlock?" No answer. "Mum, I'm going to get Sherlock up."

"Okay. Make it quick. Breakfast is getting cold." Mycroft sprints up the stairs and eases Sherlock's door open, knowing what will probably be streaking out the door as soon as it opens. Nothing stirs. He directs his gaze to the bed where the figure of his brother lay unmoving. For one moment fear grips his heart, had he killed his brother? 'It's impossible to die from fright.' he thought smiling.

"Sherlock?"

A shaky reply comes from the trembling body, "Shhhh-hhh-hh-h!" It's quiet and scared. Mycroft smiles,

"They can't hurt you." No reply. A hairy leg plants itself on Mycroft's shoe, but he brushes it away with a kick. "Sherlock." No reply. He walks to the edge of the bed and looks into the terrified eyes of his brother. "Sherlock?" He doesn't move but continues to stare at the ceiling. "Sherlock."

"Mycroft? Have you gotten Sherlock yet?" His mother's soft voice floats up the stairs. Mycroft flinches. He's made his brother paralyzed with fear. He's twitching now, look at that. Sherlock lets out a whimper and his eyes start to fill with tears.

"Sherlock?"

"He-el-p me."

"Sherlock."

"Sh-ut up. He-lp me." Sighing, Mycroft plucks the cause of Sherlock's despair off his bed and drops them onto the floor. He's going to have to clean them up later, mother will make sure of it. Once she hears about this... Mycroft shakes his head and gathers his younger brother in his arms. Sherlock clings to his neck and starts to cry.

"Did you sleep?"

"Noooo!" Mycroft rolls his eyes.

"Don't be a baby. Come on." Mycroft carries his brother down the stairs and sets him at the table, preparing himself. A telling off from his mother is sure to follow this stunt.

_Sherlock Present Day_

I've got to stop being so bloody bored all the time. I stare at the ceiling,

"BORED!" Not helping. John can't hear you, and he hid the gun last week. Again. I know where it is, under the loose floorboard near his bed, but I'm not going to go get it. "BOR- Oh forget it." I sigh loudly, hitting at the wall halfheartedly.

_BORED_

_SH_

Might as well. I'm bored as it is.

_Sorry Sherlock._

_Find something to do._

_JW_

_That's the point John. _

_I've got nothing to do._

_I'm BORED._

_SH_

_-sigh-_

_JW_

_Not funny John._

_SH_

_The bathtub drain could use unclogging..._

_JW_

_Very funny._

_SH_

_I'm serious. _

_Fix it by the time I get home or you'll have a very unhappy flatmate when you get home._

_JW_

No. He did not just... He's like my mother. Sighing I get up from the couch to get the make shift unclogger from the hall closet. Basically it's a twisted hanger with a makeshift hook at the end that reaches down inside the drain and pulls whatever is clogging it, up so you can throw it away. I'm not in the mood for doing chores, but I don't want John to yell at me. He says we're having a movie night, something about watching 'Primeval'. Grudgingly, I make my way to the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain. I look down and shriek at the top of my lungs, throwing my hanger into the tub and cringing in the corner. Spider. Spider in the tub. It's going to eat me!

_John, several hours later_

I put my key into the lock, turning it only to find that the door is unlocked. Rolling my eyes I push into the flat.

"Sherlock?" No answer. I wonder what's up. "Sherlock?"

"JOHN?" He's shouting from the bathroom, his voice sounds scared and croaky.

"Sherlock? Have you cleaned the drain?"

"JOHN!" his voice is squeaky now. I roll my eyes again and head for the bathroom. Sherlock's cringing in the corner next to the toilet, trying to inch as far back as possible from the tub. He looks up and points to the bathtub frantically. "KILL IT!"

"What the Hell?"

"KILL IT!" He gestures wildly again and turns toward the wall, looking like he's about to cry. "KILL IT!"

"Wha-?"

"STOP ASKING STUPID QUESTIONS AND JUST KILL THE DAMN THING!"

"What is 'the damn thing'?"

"JUST KILL IT!" I peer over the edge of the tub only to smile. It's a silly spider. A bigger one, but small compared to the ones I've seen before.

"It's just a silly spi-"

"JUST KILL IT! STOP TALKING AND KILL IT!"

"Have you been standing here the whole time?"

"KILL IT!"

"YOU HAVE!" I start to laugh. He's been cringing in the corner since he texted me. "I'm just surprised you actually decided to clean out the drain. Really, it's just a little spider, you should be able to kill it yourself."

"KILL THE DAMN THING OR SO HELP ME YOU WILL NOT SLEEP FOR A WEEK!"

"Fine. Fine. Fine! I'm getting it." I go to the kitchen for a glass and coax the spider into the cup. I throw open the window and toss it outside, watching it fall to the ground from two stories up.

"IS IT DEAD?"

"Yes."

"THANK GOD!" He comes out of the kitchen, looking paler than usual, if it's even possible.

"It was a spider."

"Don't. Just. Don't."

"But-"

"DON'T."

"What's the story."

"Do you want me to unclog that drain or not?" I think about it, he wants the TV night so he's willing to do the drain.

"I'll do the drain if you tell me the story and we can have a television night still." He half-smiles.

"Sit." He pushes me onto the couch and turns the armchair to face me. "You want to know the story?"

"Yes."

"When I was younger, I thought it was brilliant when I upset Mycroft, especially when I'm bored."

"You don't think that now?"

"He does something governmental now, and the punishment's harsher, although I do try... Anyway, don't interrupt. One day I decided it would be really smart to mess Mycroft's filing system up and to rearrange his room while he was out. Worst. Idea. Ever. Mycroft didn't say anything, but I wasn't stupid so I knew that he found out and was pretty pissed. That night, when I went to bed, I discovered what he had done. He had unleashed a legion of spiders onto my bed. They were as big as my hand. They crawled over me all night. I couldn't sleep. I was paralyzed with fear. Worst experience of my life. Ever since then spiders, no matter how big or small, freak me out." He looks at the ceiling as if praying, "God, they just-" he shivers.

"How did you get back at him? Because I know you did." This time he smiles, a real smile.  
"Mycroft hates snakes. Guess what was waiting for him when he got home."

"A snake?"

"A bed full of snakes. Big ones, small ones. You should have heard him scream." His eyes glaze over as he ponders on the fond memory of his brother. "What are you scared of John?"

"Nothing."

"Don't you dare challenge me, because I will find out."

"It's on."


	5. How It Happened

_John in Afghanistan_

Bullets spray the air, punching holes in the wall behind me. I jump up and race toward a larger group of our men, adrenaline pumping through veins. I'm not going to die, not today, not while those men still need my help. I reach the group of men and race to the one on the ground while bullets still fly.

"Cover us or so help me there will be more bodies to cover the ground than you can count!" I shout loudly at the men as I turn the other over. Clean enter and exit, he might live if the enemy fire stops. I need to move him.

"SIR!" One of the men shouts back at me,

"WHAT?"

"We can't stop it, they're getting closer, we have to take cover!"

"Oh HELL! It's not my day is it? I can't leave him here! Give me a gun!" He throws his gun over and the group takes off toward a building, kicking down the door.

"ONE CHANCE DOCTOR WATSON! ONE!" I look down at the dying man and decide then and there that he can't make it, he's lost too much blood. I jump up and race toward the building, running backwards and spraying the area with bullets. Men shout out and fall to the ground in front of me. "DOCTOR WATSON!" The man shouts from the building again holding the door open. My clip runs out and I toss the useless gun to the side and turning toward the building. "COME ON!" I trip over a low wall and land on my face, for the first time in a while I'm scared, a proper fear grips my heart. I could die. The horror of death and guns finally reaches me as I pick myself back up, throwing myself toward the building. I turn back toward the enemy as I reach the door, mistake number one. Mistake number two happens now as I back into the building with the men shouting behind me to hurry. I haven't even passed the door yet. Shit. I'm going to die. One of the enemy soldiers raises his gun, pointing at my chest. "DOCTOR!" Two men behind me drop to the floor, spraying blood on my uniform. Oh God. "DOCTOR!" A sudden force and searing pain ram themselves into left shoulder and I stumble backward before falling down, getting dirt and blood in my face. Oh God. Oh God.

"OH GOD! SHIT! SHIT!"

"DOCTOR!" More fire, I can't see anything, my shoulder. Oh God. It hurts. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm such an idiot and now I'm going to die.

"OH MY GOD! SHIT! OH SHIT! HELL! SHIT! BOLLOCKS! OH GOD! THIS- OH MY GOD! SHIT!"

"DOCTOR!" The gunfire stops and the soldier from before leans over me. "DOCTOR! It's going to be okay! JOHN! Listen to me! You remember me?" My brain fights the curtain of darkness that tries to take over.

"I've seen you. Oh God. You- your name is Adam right?" He nods, "Tell me, have you ever been shot?"

"No sir, but I know that it hurts."

"SHIT." He tries to move me, "No, listen, it's still in there, don't touch it Adam, that could make it worse. What do you-" I pause to moan a little, God. This pain is... Morphine would do me good, "What did you do before this?" He smiles,

"I was a college student, set up to become a novelist."

"What the HELL are you doing in war then?" He offers a half laugh,

"It was for experience. I wanted to know what it was like."

"You could have asked me." My eye lids start to get heavy and I fight to keep them open. This isn't good.

"What is it than John?"

"War is Hell." He half laughs again,

"Best way I've heard it put in a long time."

"Oh shit." The pain is getting to me.

"Adam can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"If we make it out, what are you going to do?"

"_When_ we make it out, I'm going to go back to school. You?"

"Look for a job as a doctor, it's what I was trained to do." This time he actually laughs,

"And now you've gotten yourself shot. Now the author has to look after you." I try to smile and try to laugh, but it hurts too much to do it.

"Yeah, how unfortunate."

"Hey John. You know what?"

"What?"

"I'm glad I met you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I am."

"I'm glad I met you too Adam. Makes this-" it still isn't perfect but when I'm thinking about something else it doesn't hurt so bad, "somewhat bearable."

"Thanks John. Means a lot, I'll radio for help now that it's calmed down a bit."

"Good plan." Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Oh God. "John." Adam's looking in the direction I got shot from.

"What is it Adam? Help me up." He lifts me up enough to look over the wall. More enemy troops are coming from that direction. "Oh SHIT! This is my day. This is so my day! Adam, run. Now."

"But John!"

"NO ADAM! GET AWAY NOW! You radioed in right?"

"Yeah but-"

"NO! GO! NOW!" Adam jumps to his feet and shoots me a look of remorse before heading toward the building again. "RUN-A!" He starts to run but looks back at the group of approaching group and raises his gun to shoot at them. Something hits the ground next to my head and Adam calls out in despair.

"JOHN!" He grabs the thing from my head and throws it behind him, and in seconds the building goes up in flame, sending brick and shrapnel in every direction. Before I know what's happening Adam lets out a shout and falls to the ground beside me, the sound of anything expect white noise is faded and tuned out.

"ADAM!"

"OH GOD! MY LEG! MY LEG! OH MY GOD! MY LEG!"

"ADAM!"

"JOHN?" More debris falls from the sky and a searing pain adds on top of my shoulder's pain and I lose all thought and movement.


	6. Your Assistance is Needed

_Sherlock Age: 15_

I stare up at the ceiling, willing my parents not to ask for my report card. From my bed I glance toward the door, hoping that it wasn't the front door that I heard just a moment ago. I sit up. Footsteps, on the stairs. I crumple my report card and throw it into the bin, closing my eyes as my door bursts open. Oh God.

"Sherlock?" I open my eyes,

"Mycroft? Thank God."

"Bad grades?" I reach into the bin and pull it out,

"Hell yes." For a moment Mycroft looks at me in a sort of admiring way,

"How long have we got?"

"Minutes at most." He grins.

"Come with me." Snatching my report card he races down the stairs to the family computer, scanning in the sheet of paper and opening photo-shop. "I'm going to help you, but you owe me."

"Anything Mycroft."

"Listen, this isn't for you, this is for me. I need your help." His fingers fly across the key board as he edits the letters, changing them from D's to A's.

"Thank God."

"Will you help me?" the garage door starts to open,

"Mycroft!" several grades still need to be changed. He swears loudly and hits print when the door opens all the way. "Oh God. Oh God." The paper prints out and he holds it over my head, "DO YOU WANT ME TO GET KILLED?"

"Will you help me?"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE MYCROFT!"

"For your own! Will you help me?"

"YES!" I'm going to regret this. The door leading to the garage squeaks open as Mycroft shoves the paper into my fingers,

"Good luck." he whispers as he pushes past me, heading for the stairs.

"Thanks, but it's no use."

"Sherlock?" mum's voice floats in from the kitchen,

"Yes mother?"

"How was your day?" I fold the paper up and stick it in my back pocket, best if she doesn't know I have it yet.

"Fine. You?"

"It was alright, long, but good."

"Where's father?"

"Is he not in yet?"

"I thought he was with you..." Mother pauses in the door way, looking at me strangely.

"Why would he be with me?" I want to say, 'Because he always is.' but I don't. I simply shrug and offer her a smile. She smiles back and kisses my head before going back into the kitchen, "Do you want anything Sherlock? Where's Mycroft?"

"No thanks. He's upstairs I think." Smiling in relief I make my way up the my brother's room.

"What do you need help with?" He looks up from his computer.

"I need bait."

"WHAT?" I knew I would regret it.

"I need bait. Someone at my school is being a git, and I need you to pretend to be me so I can catch them."

"Mycroft!"

"Do I ever ask you for help?" I think about this a moment,

"No."

"Exactly, just this once yeah? Help me out?"

"Okay. But I don't look anything like you."

"That doesn't matter, they just need to see someone there. I've sent them a message to meet me tonight at a warehouse. Will you go?"

"If I'm able to stand when father gets home." Mycroft winces,

"Forgot about that."

"Thanks for helping me though."

"It should lighten the blow. Remember last time?"

"How could I forget. He dangled me off the roof while mother was out. How does mother not see this?"

"Why don't you tell her?"

"It'd break her heart. I like seeing her happy. Oh." That was his point, maybe she see's but chooses not to actually see it.

"Yeah."

"What time tonight?"

"Midnight, if you can manage it."

"I'll try. You might have to wake me up."

"Always do." The front door's screen slams shut, causing me to jump. Oh God. "Get out of here right now Sherlock, close the door behind you. I don't like watching."

"Father actually likes you!"

"He respects me, totally different. Now go." Oh God. I pull the door shut behind me and race to my room, locking myself in. Oh God. He marks these days on his calendar. I have ten minutes tops before he can get mum to leave the house. Less, there she goes, probably to get him something from the store because he asked so nicely. There, on the stairs.

"Sherlock? Where's your report card?" I pull it out from my pocket and slide it under the door. I can hear him reading it, Mycroft did a good job till it got to German and English. Oh God. "You know this isn't good enough Sherlock. You've got to do better. We're paying for you to go to that school, now pay up." He tries to door handle, only to find it locked. I race to the window and pull it open, I tried it last time, maybe it would actually work this time. No. The lock is turning. Shit. Oh God. Shit shit shit. I try to scramble out the small window but my father grabs my ankles, pulling me back in. I cry out as my shoulder hits my desk, the corner jabbing into my back.

"Father! Please!" He doesn't say anything but twists my arm behind my back, pushing me against the window.

"Listen boy, listen, I work for the money to pay for that school."

"Father! You're drunk!" He pushes me against the window again,

"So what? So what if I am?"

"You don't know what you're doing!"

"TEACHING YOU A LESSON!" He pushes me against my table, knocking it and me to the floor. I hit my head on the wood, and cut my hand open as the shattered lamp. "GET UP!" I scramble to my feet, darting under his arm and out the window onto the roof. Yes! Perfectly executed. I scramble over the crease and down to the window that leads to Mycroft's room. My father swears loudly and races down the stairs and out the door to see where I had gone. I rap on his window, he looks up and sees me, shaking his head in remorse. He opens the window and pulls me into his room, sitting me down in his chair.

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Shut up Mycroft, just shut up."

"It could have been worse."

"Yeah, it could have, but it wasn't. And it's still bad. I think he broke my wrist." Mycroft touches my face, and I flinch back. "Stop it! That hurts!"

"Hold still Sherlock. Do you think you can go tonight?"

"Absolutely. Next time don't cut it so fine, fix them all so this doesn't happen again."

"Whatever Sherlock. If it wasn't a big deal, I wouldn't have asked for your help, I wouldn't have fixed your report card or anything like that, so be very aware that this is important. People's lives are at risk as long as this person is allowed to walk unknown. Do you understand that?"

"I understand that you would never sink so low as to ask for my help unless it was important. So for this once, I will help you out." He lets out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you Sherlock."

"Don't mention it. Ever." He nods,

"I'll go get the first aid kit under the sink."

"Thank you."


	7. Do You Believe?

_John_

I tighten my neck tie, it's going to be a long day. Sunday's always are. I straighten my jacket and fix my shoe laces before heading downstairs to get my coat. If I'm lucky I can slip out before Sherlock gives me a hard time about going to church. I ease open the door and feel around for my coat. Damn. Left it downstairs.

"John?" Damn.

"What Sherlock?"

"Where are you going?" I poke my head in,

"Church. Why?"

"Is it Sunday already?" He sits up and does a quick calculation. "Dull."

"Yeah, thanks. I'm going to go now." I retreat down the stairs again, praying that he won't follow me.

"John wait."

"What Sherlock?"

"Do you believe what you go to church for?"

"What?" I turn to look at him. Either he's questioning my faith, or he's questioning God.

"Do you believe in God?"

"Without a doubt."

"Why?"

"Sherlock, I'd love to talk about this right now, but I've got church and I need to leave right now to get there on time. If you absolutely _must_ finish this conversation, get your coat and come with me."

"Really? You'd let me come to church with you?" I knew I shouldn't have said anything.

"What's to stop you?"

"Let me think about it." I grab my coat and pull it on,

"You've got five minutes." I open the door and step out into the street to hail a cab. The door behind me opens and Sherlock waltzes out, coat flaring behind him. "I see."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"So you believe in God."

"That's just a statement."

"And here's the question, Why?"

"I should have died in Afghanistan, but I didn't. Why is that?"

"Why do you think?" I glance out the window.

"Maybe I was needed for a bigger purpose. I don't think my time had come yet."

"So you don't think anything is chance?"

"I'm not sure. I think that some things are predestination, but some aren't."

"Oh. So would meeting me be predetermined?"

"Possibly. I must have done something really bad to be punished like this though." He nudges me,

"I'm not really that bad am I?" I smile at him,

"Not really." The cab stops outside of the modest church building. I pay the cab driver and go for the door. Sherlock hasn't said a word for a while now. "Do you believe in God?" The question has been nagging me for a while. Does he believe in God? Could a man like Sherlock Holmes have room to believe in God? Does he even care? He looks at me oddly for a minute as I take my seat in the pew. Back row, just as usual. He leans to my ear so as not to disturb the other worshipers.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't know if I believe in God. I want to, but the idea is absurd."

"The belief that a higher being made us is absurd?"  
"Yes. My life so far? I don't know. I'm just not sure I believe in God."

"You aren't sure?"

"No. Do you want me to leave?" He looks like he doesn't want to leave, and it's Sunday. I can't just make him go home and stay there. I can't just say, 'I asked you to come to church with me but since you don't believe in God, you can't stay. Go back to the flat'. That's rude. Who knows, maybe he'll learn something. He gets up to start to leave,

"No. It's fine. Stay." He smiles and takes his seat again.

"Thank you John."

"It's my pleasure." He smiles again.

"It's been years since I've been to church."

"What happened?"

"I just didn't go anymore."

"Lost faith?"

"I don't think I ever had it."

"Ah." The first hymn. I wonder if Sherlock can sing. I know he plays the violin, really well too, but can he sing? I've never heard him sing before. This should be interesting. I open the hymn book and turn to the appropriate page and start to sing,

"_Abide with me. Fast falls the eventide;_

_The darkness deepens. Lord with me abide!_

_When other helpers fail an comforts flee, _

_help of the helpless, oh, abide with me!"_

The second verse is my favorite, so it's a pleasant surprise when Sherlock starts to sing with me.

"_Swift to it's close ebbs life's little day._

_Earth's joys grow dim; it's glories pass away." _

He's actually got a nice voice, and he manages to stay on key. Today's full of surprises.

"_Change and decay in all around I see;_

_O thou who changest not, abide with me!_

_I need thy presence ev'ry passing hour._

_What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power?_

_Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?_

_Thru cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me!"_

It's such a beautiful song, just a good way to start the meeting. I lean back contentedly and Sherlock does the same.

"If you want me to go John you can just say something."

"No Sherlock. Really. Stay. I want you to stay."

"I know when you're lying John." I'm not lying now, I want him to stay. I think it'll be an interesting experience for both of us. Maybe this will convince Sherlock that God is real. Who else could have introduced such an unlikely pair? Only God. And only God could make it last this long.

"I'm not lying. Now shut up and pay attention."

"My soul doesn't need saving John."

"And I don't need to stay in our flat. So shut up. You might hear something you like." He scoffs,

"As if."

"If you're going to act like this you can leave, but I want you to stay. I like company when I go to church. Especially today. It's refreshing." He frowns but shuts up. At least for a little while.

"What's the name of that song John?"

"It's called 'Abide With Me'. Why?"

"It's a nice song. I like it. Will you sing with me if I play it when we get home?"

"Absolutely. Now you need to shut up or I'm going to tape your mouth shut. I'm trying to listen." He nods and leans his head against the wall, listening to the meeting. Sunday divine.


	8. Superstition Part 1

_Sherlock_

The sting of a needle forcing it's way past the skin of my neck startles me and I jump before the liquid floods my veins and makes me relax more than I want to. I slump back into the couch cushions and manage to frown before Mycroft's face enters my fading vision. I manage to flip him off before the powerful drug takes hold and pulls me into the depths of blackness.

The throbbing of my neck wakes me up. Stupid idiot brother of mine. He doesn't know what he's doing when he drugs people. Maybe I should give him a lesson... Yeah. That sounds good. I slowly open my eyes, where has he put me this time? Another warehouse? Really? He needs to get an imagination. How many times has it been now? By the Thames judging by the air, probably downtown. Again. I roll my eyes and rub my neck. How much did he drug me with? Idiot. My neck is strained now. Great.

"MYCROFT!" I yell, hearing my voice echo back at me, the cloud my breath makes flies back into my face. "MYCROFT GET YOUR FAT ARSE DOWN HERE NOW!" It's cold. I wonder how long he'll make me wait here. This is boring. Dull. Predictable. Just like my brother. I sigh and lean back in my chair. I'll give him five minutes. I would already have gone, it's just that I'm so bored right now. Mycroft only ever kidnaps me when he's got something big on. Bored. Bored. Bored. "MYCROFT!" Three minutes. I glance around the dark warehouse, taking in the rusting doors and soggy boxes. Boring. Fine. I'm leaving now. I stand up and make for the open doors, crossing a huge amount of empty space. A black car pulls around the left corner and nearly runs me over. I roll my eyes. Late. Mycroft gets out of the back and opens the door for someone else. John. Great.

"Sherlock?"

"Did he drug you too?"

"What?"

"He drugged me. Or did you come on your own free will?"

"I wouldn't call it willing..."

"Good. Come on." I make for the door again but Mycroft stops me,

"Sherlock, you know it's something big." I turn to face my brother,

"And you know I don't care." I grab John by the arm and pull him with me toward the door.

"If it was Lestrade you would do it." That stops me. Is he trying to guilt trip me, yes. Yes he is. John stops walking and his sleeve slips out of my grasp.

"He's right Sherlock. If it was anyone else you would do it."

"I don't even know what it is."

"You won't give him time Sherlock." I grit my teeth. God people are tedious. Oddly enough my curiosity is gnawing at my insides. And I am bored. I lean against the car's hood and look at my brother,

"Go." The ghost of a smile crosses Mycroft's face, only for a moment though.

"Listen. This is important."

"Get on with it." John smirks, trying to hide his smile from my brother who glares at me.

"A man died of a heart attack in Hull last week." I roll my eyes,

"A heart attack Mycroft?"

"Hear me out. He had a bad heart but there was something odd about it. His family has been said to have a curse on it." I roll my eyes again,

"Superstition? You're basing this all on superstition?"

"God damn Sherlock! You need to listen to me yeah?"

"Your time is ticking away Mycroft, much like my patience."

"One of the people that lived on the property came forward with information. The story goes that one man in the family line was attacked by a gigantic dog which ripped his throat out in punishment for doing some very bad things. It is said that the dog lives on the grounds and if anyone is out there after dark it will attack them and they'll end up dead. Until recently that myth wasn't put to test. The man that died took a walk every night but this time he ventured past the gate, never to return. There wasn't a mark on the body, but the doctor who came forward with information recalls seeing gigantic dog prints twenty feet from the body. I need you to go down there and figure it out. Something is going on down there, you need to protect the heir. He's going to be flying in from Canada in a few hours. You need to go meet him and stay with him till you find whatever is going on down there. Are we clear?" I tap my foot irratbily,

"This is what you want me to do?"

"Yes."

"No."

"What?"

"No. I'm not doing it."  
"Sherlock."

"Mycroft! There is no data! Mere speculation, and you want me to make a big deal out of something that is pure superstition. Obviously the man saw something that scared him to death. End of story. Nothing's going to happen Mycroft, you're making something out of nothing. Just like usual." I try to leave again by John stops me this time,

"Sherlock. It can't hurt to look into it. The least we can do is escort the new guy to his house, come on. I know you're bored, you were blowing holes in the wall again. At least look at it." He's taking sides with my brother. Typical.

"Listen to John Sherlock. Please. Just this once."

"Mycroft!"

"Sherlock! You know I can make your life extremely miserable. What do you say? A week in Hull. That's it. One week. If nothing happens you can come back home."

"It's only one week Sherlock. I can go with you if you want."

"One week?" Sherlock, are you seriously considering this? Yes. Yes you are. Yes I am.

"Just one." I kick at the car, you idiot.

"One condition."

"What?"

"I escort the guy-"

"His name is Henry."

"Henry to his house in Hull and then I come home. John stays for the week, keeping me posted. Are we clear? That's the only way you're getting me to go over there. I've got a black mailing case I could work on for Lestrade." John's started to try and protest but Mycroft cuts him off,

"Done. I'll drive you to pick him up. Then you get a cab. Here is his address, you have one week John. Keep Sherlock updated on everything. Text messages, emails, phone calls, the works. Got it?" John nods. He doesn't look to happy.

"Hey, you offered to come, I just offered you to stay. Without me."

"I didn't have a say in the matter."

"Still." He sits next to me, glaring.

"I need to stop by the flat to get a bag together."  
"I'll send you some stuff. You'll get it within a day, knowing Mycroft he won't want you to be uncomfortable." This should be hilarious. Only thing, I'm getting the flat to myself for a whole week. How will I feel? I haven't had that flat to myself since I've rented it. John's been with me the whole time. Maybe- No. He won't need my help. It's only superstition.

* * *

_Right! Hey everyone. This is a sort of adapted version of the original Sherlock Holmes adventure by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle entitled, 'The Hound of Baskervilles' but for obvious reasons I've updated it and added things like the Mycroft kiddnaption and things like that. The person I got this idea from was kind enough to point out that the dedication of 'The Hound of Baskervilles' was also meant for a guy with the last name Robinson, just like my source. He would also like you all to know that I went to him for an idea and he gave this one to me. I don't know how long it's going to take or how long this section is going to be considering that I haven't even finished the story yet. Best get on that eh? Hope you enjoyed this. You'll get the next bit tomorrow._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	9. Superstition Part 2

_John_

That idiot. What is Sherlock thinking? I don't even know this guy and he's having me live with him for a week? I check my watch impatiently and scan the crowd looking for this Henry that was supposed to be getting off the plane in a few minutes. Nothing yet. God. Sherlock jiggles his legs next to me, a sign that he was clearly unhappy.

"A bloody cab all the way to Hull. What was Mycroft thinking?" He mutters under his breath, "He owes me the cost, and double for my troubles. The plane landed two minutes ago! Where is he?" Sherlock narrows his eyes and gazes at the people with suit cases bustling by. "Boring."

"You know you could come with us." I suggest, knowing it's a lost cause, but might as well.

"Don't be daft. I'll go with you to Hull, check out the layout and then I'm going home. Freedom at last. I can finally do that experiment with the pint of animal blood and the liver that's been just sitting there forever." Gross.

"I don't even want to know Sherlock."

"Really? It's quite interesting. I'm going to-"

"Is that him?" I ask, nearly shouting and pointing to some random bloke, who stops and stares at us like a deer in the headlights. Anything to stop Sherlock from explaining what he does in his spare time. As if living with him wasn't bad enough.

"John. Really? Look at him! His name's not even Henry! It's Stephen!" I roll my eyes as Sherlock continues to tell me why I should have noticed that, "It even says on his name tag! God people are so ignorant!"

"Sherlock!"

"What? It's the truth! First Mycroft drugs me and then he sets me on this pointless case-"

"Which you hand off to me. Quit complaining. There," I point to a tall man who just exited the plane and is looking around hurriedly, "That's him."

"How do you know?"

"Just look at him Sherlock. Wave! He's supposed to be meeting you!" Sherlock glares at me before raising an arm to get Henry's attention. When he spots us he smiles and starts to make his way.

"Thank God you're here. I was getting worried." He says before introducing himself, "I'm Henry Baskerville."

"We know. Come on, get your stuff, we'll hail a cab to take us to the property." Sherlock likes to act like he's in charge, the git. He leads the way to the baggage claim center, grabbing Henry's bags and going first to the curb. Another black car pulls up and stops. Not a cab. Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Mycroft." he swears before stuffing the luggage in the trunk and holding the door for Henry.

"At least it's not a cab."

"Shut up." Sherlock pulls the door shut as he gets in, looking intensely uncomfortable. "Henry?" He asks, "I need to gather as much data as possible. Can you tell me anything?" Henry glances over at him,

"What kind of things?"

"Anything. Has anyone contacted you recently? Is there anything you know about the property? When was the last time you were there? That kind of thing."

"Oddly enough, I did get a strange email..." Sherlock's eyes light up, could there be a mystery in this after all?

"What did it say?"

"I'm sure it was just a joke, but still, it was kind of creepy. It said, 'If you want to live, don't go out at night. Beware the dog'. I'm sure it's just a prank, everyone knows about the legend of the Hell Hound."

"On the contrary I think it's a very real threat. Pray, head it for the time being?" Henry nods and a sort of silence falls. I study Henry Baskerville. A taller man, brown hair, sharp facial features, beady eyes, a tan complexion. Jeans and a T-shirt, with a frankly stylish leather jacket, obviously pretty casual unlike Sherlock who has refused to wear anything except his suit. Finally after several minutes of quiet, Sherlock speaks up, "Are you aware of the arrangements?"

"The ones where you and John are staying with me for a week?"

"The very same. There's been a change, just John's going to stay with you. I don't like people, and from what I hear the little towns around there aren't very friendly either." Shut up Sherlock, you're just making excuses. God sometimes I hate you! Henry smiles,

"I think you might be right, although my good friend and doctor, James Mortimer is going to be hanging around with me too. There is a little clump of houses with a few family friends too, the Stapeltons I think they are. Haven't met them personally yet, it's been years since I've been to the old house. Odd that uncle should name me the heir."

"You're only the air because there is no one else."

"Oh. Right."

"What he means is, I'm sure you'll love it." I nudge Sherlock in the ribs, "Behave."

"Yes mum!" He whispers back. Git. The car becomes silent again, as we slowly make our way across country. Four hours in a car with Sherlock Holmes and a complete stranger. Nothing can go wrong there.

_Several hours later_

Sherlock nudges me awake as the car makes a sharp turn into a long driveway. I blink hard and stretch out as best I can in the limited space. Finally. Sherlock gets out first, nearly tripping over himself as his legs get used to being used after hours of being locked in place. Henry and I exit next pushing feeling into our legs. The car turns off and the driver sits there waiting for Sherlock to get back in so he can be taken back to London. Eight hours in a car for Sherlock, he's not going to be happy when he finally gets home. Speaking of Sherlock... I look up, where is he? He's dashed off again, bastard. Henry leads me up the stairs and through the front door. The house is huge, beautiful, and old fashioned kind of house. The staircase is winding and long with a beautiful polished banister. The kitchen is just barely visible through the doorway at the end of the hall, and the living room is just off the landing to the left. It's cozy and warm looking with a lit fireplace and armchairs.

"Come on John, don't want to get lost." He starts up the stairs and stops outside of a wooden door to the left. "You're room is here, mine's just next to it across the hall. If you need anything, I'm sure the Barrymore's can accommodate. They've lived here for years, been with the family for a long time. Mr. Barrymore is the butler and Mrs. Barrymore does the cooking sometimes and tidies things up. I'm not sure where they are right now, but I'm sure you'll meet them before the night is out. Make yourself comfortable, and when you're ready come down to the living room where we can talk. It's going to be a long week, we should get to know each other better. I called ahead and had Mr. Barrymore bring in some brandy from the cellar. You won't deny me the pleasure of a drink would you?"

"Of course not!" He smiles and leaves me outside my door, brooding. It's going to be a long week indeed.


	10. Superstition Part 3

_John's first email to Sherlock_

Sherlock,

Look, I know you're going insane because knowing you, you're bored. Again. Nothing major has happened here at all, I've only been here a day. And you still haven't sent me my stuff. I've met the Barrymores as well as the Stapletons. The Barrymores seem to be alright, Mr. Barrymore is a larger man, butler, keeps charge of everything. He recently asked if he and his wife could be let go, much to the surprise of everyone. Mrs. Barrymore is a small, thinner woman. She doesn't speak much, and is usually closer to her husband. The Stapletons live in a small house near the edge of the smallest cluster, nearest to the house. The brother is obsessed with bugs, usually moths and butterflies. I think he might be a little bit crazy. His sister is a charming young lady, she's beautiful and quite smart. I caught Henry making eyes at her when we went down to introduce ourselves. Henry's an alright guy, a bit shallow, and maybe a tad thick, but his heart's in the right place. I've still got to meet Dr. James Mortimer but I'm not really looking forward to that, a fellow doctor to form a rivalry with is not in my best interest right now.

I think you might have already known this, which would be part of the reason you sent me out here... By myself... There's an escaped convict on the loose in the countryside of Hull. Everything is monitored and checked by police, it's all very dull. Lucky for me I haven't left my gun at home for a long time and already had it with me when we arrived.

All is quite down here, and to tell you the truth, I think I like it out here better than I do in the city.

I'll do some nosing about, see what I can find, but truth be told, I think it's a lost cause. I hope that when I come home there won't be a huge mess, or a strange smell or anything like that waiting for me. Don't get too bored.

John.

_Sherlock_

Just as I though. He's happy, which may or may not be a bad thing. It's only been a day and already I'm bored. Who'd have thought that one friend could make life so much more interesting? Certainly not I. It is ridiculous to think that someone could miss someone else, I never have. Is it normal to miss someone? Probably. John always makes the flat much more entertaining, even if he is yelling at me to pick such and such up, or to put away my coffee mug, or to clean out the fridge when I'm done with my experiments. God it gets tedious sometimes, but then you sort of miss it. Odd. I type a hurried reply, I need to get out. Need to do something. I snap my laptop closed and carry it under my arm, before locking the flat door behind me. I need to see someone. _(AUTHOR INTRUSION! Sorry, usually I'd wait till the end, but this is where I say, I'm going to be mean and deviate from the book. This is where I wouldn't put this up as a totally different story because I bring in off characters (again) and not everyone likes that. SORRY! RETURN!)_ Hannah. She'll be at the cafe, most likely with Michael. I need to ask some advice. At least John isn't here to say anything, to mock me. I hail a cab and get out at the cafe, good. Hannah looks like she and Michael are about to leave, look, she's paying now.

"Hannah, Michael. I need your help?" Hannah turns and looks at me, smiling,

"Of course. Walk with us? My flat's not too far from here."  
"I thought you lived with your parents." She smiles again before leading us down the street,

"That's what I want you to think, actually I live right across the street from them. We've made an arrangement. Michael knows this." She smiles again as she fumbles for her keys, "I should apologize, it's kind of a mess, things have been happening in my life a lot quicker then usual, my head is just teeming with ideas." She pushes open the door and drops her bag near the door, "Make yourself at home, there should be a space on the chair, even if it's not very big."

"John leave?"

"What?"

"Did John leave?"

"Well, not really, I sort of-"

"I can tell." I want to roll my eyes, people stealing my thing, and doing it to me, acting like they are clever is just annoying. Acting like they know everything. It's not natural, it's unpleasant, and it's my thing.

"Thanks."

"Here," he clears away a couple of notebooks and pens from one of the chairs and pushes me into it, "Coffee?" It seems as though he gets it, that I don't like being analyzed like that, that I don't like people stealing my things and trying them out on me. Do that to other people kid, I'm all for that, but when I'm around, it's my thing. Michael smiles apologetically, "Sorry. Habit."

"It's fine." Not really.

"Coffee?" he asks again.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Thanks. Black-"

"Two sugars. Hannah?"

"On it." She bustles about in the kitchen, "What's ailing you Mr. Holmes?"

"Sherlock, and nothing's ailing me. I'm just bored." She grins,

"We're flattered to think that you find us entertaining."

"You're what? Fifteen? And you live by yourself?" I ask after a while,

"Absolutely, I've always been a bit independent. I got fed up with my family, and everything that I got a job and moved out. Not very far, I still go over and see them, but I'm pretty much on my own out here. It's nice really." I nod, I know exactly how it feels. Relaxing more then anything. "Plus, I'm not really alone, Michael is over more then he isn't, we skip school and write, talk, that kind of thing. Which is why you caught us at the cafe." I smile,

"I figured, Friday, I skipped on Friday's too, not worth it."

"Absolutely. My thoughts exactly." She smiles as she leans against the counter top. She did all of this herself. Interesting. She's going to be going places when she gets out of school.

"Yeah, what's the point of being in school when it's a nice day out, one of the few in a long while, and you have ideas and can utilize those for bigger, better things?" Hannah smiles at Michael before handing me my coffee,

"Careful."

"Always."  
"No you aren't." They say at the same time, it's kind of funny the way they think the same way, they get each other. It's weird. But I get John so I guess it's not that weird.

_Several Hours later_

"NO! Listen! And so when we finished with that, John and I had to race across London after a bloody cab! Only the passenger wasn't the murderer! HE WAS FROM CALIFORNIA! Of all things!" We laugh together, for the past few hours we've been sharing stories and laughing. It's quite entertaining, John would love this. Wait. John... I sit up, what am I doing? I excuse myself a moment and open my laptop, time to check my email again.

_Sherlock,_

_Thanks for the clothes, got here nice and DIRTY just as promised. God, you couldn't busy yourself enough to at least get me clean clothes? Typical. Anyway, there is a point to this email. What? It's late now, really late. Hope you haven't lost track of time blowing holes in my wall. Woke up because someone was walking around out side my door, I looked out and it was Barrymore, carrying a flashlight. I followed him a bit, he went into a room with a window facing the yard, waved the flashlight a bit and then left, nearly running into me. I thought it was suspicious. And that you should probably hear about it. I can't do anything about it tonight, but I'll do some poking around tomorrow morning. Don't stay out too late, there's some left overs in the fridge that you should eat and do your laundry. I sound like a mother. _

_John_

The message brings a smile to my lips, intriguing. I look up and the two teens are staring at me expectantly. What could they possibly- Oh. They want me to talk. Right, I could use some advice so I better get to telling them about John.

"John's away doing some," I use air quotes to emphasize that it's sarcastic, "spying for me. It's for a case, he'll be gone a whole week, but knowing him, something will happen that will make me go down there at the end of the week to sort some mystery out. That's just like him too." The two are quite a minute before looking at each other, nothing is said verbally, but they converse. Hannah looks at me first,

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you should go secretly." Michael perks up,

"Yeah, it's like stalking him, but for his own protection!" I lean forward, obviously they don't know what this situation is. They don't understand.

"Look, if you sent your best friend somewhere for a stupid reason, and then you realized, OH HEY! It's boring without them around. And then you realize you might have put them in a bad position. Or that they won't get the information you need properly. What would you do?"

"I'd go after him."

"STALK HIM SO HE WON'T GET HURT!" Two totally different answers, but totally the same. I smile,

"How?"

"I'd find a way to get down there, I would then conceal myself under a false identity or go camp out somewhere out of sight to where they wouldn't get creeped out because they wouldn't know I was there."

"Great good plan. Actually," I stand up gathering my things, "that's a great plan. You guys are brilliant! I think that my best mate needs me, and it's time that I leave. It's late and I need to book a plane ticket for myself. Thank you." I take my leave, time to go home. John might need me soon. I have just the idea.


	11. Superstition Part 4

_2 days later_

_John's second email of importance_

_Sherlock,_

_Remember what I said that Mr. Barrymore was lurking about at night? Well it happened again, only yesterday I told Henry about it and we stayed up waiting for him. Followed him and then confronted him about his odd behavior. At first he wouldn't tell us what was up but we finally worked it from his wife who was freaking out. She said that it's her brother out there in the yard, in the woods. He signals him every couple of nights to give him food. Apparently he's the escaped convict, her brother, and so they feed him and give him clothes every once in a while. After getting this news we went down the yard and managed to chase the little bugger until we lost sight of him. We ended up going home empty handed, but realized that it was probably best to not chase him because we didn't want to get lost. We figured that it wasn't worth the chase. Though I did see something odd out there and discovered that we are being followed. I saw a man's shadow. He's too tall and skinny to be anyone I know out here but I think I've seen him before. Will be looking out for him. _

I swear. I shouldn't have followed them out, he's seen me now and knows that I'm out here.

_Anyway, something else has happened too! Henry has a thing for the Stapleton girl! You told me in your last email that you wanted me to stick close, I ended up having to follow him because he kept slipping past me. He met with her and they were talking until her brother showed up with his net trying to catch butterflies. It was ridiculous. Henry told me he wasn't too happy about that because he was asking her on a date when her brother popped up. While we were walking back to the house we heard a strange sort of noise in the wooded area of the yard. Later we had dinner at the Stapletons and I asked about the noise because he knows a lot about animals and such. At first he didn't say anything and then he told us that "It's probably that bird that I've been trying to catch for ages. An almost extinct species too." I then proceeded to tell him that it was most certainly a dog noise not a bird noise. He nodded and then said "Then it's the hound." Obviously he's trying to scare us but still. Not a pleasant thought. I'll keep my eyes open for anything odd, keep yourself busy. I'll email you if anything happens. _

_OH! Nearly forgot, we found a girl who knows why Mr. Charles was out there so late. We don't have anything but initials (L.L.) so I'm going to have to ask around. I'll get back to you on that. _

_John. _

_Sherlock_

I know what I'm doing today. I'll need to pop into that little town about three miles from my hide out. I'll have to go under a false name maybe, or something. Or I could just use my computer to look up said girl. I reposition myself on the floor of the abandoned hut and start a new search, looking for this L.L girl.

_John_

I walk briskly down the road to reach the little town, it's not far, maybe a mile or two from the house, and it's good for me to walk about in the country air. It's so lovely outside, the air smells good, and I've had more energy then I have for a long time. I've put all of this in my blog so everyone will know that I might be moving out here. Only a few days left, but this has become home, I don't want to leave. It's so lovely. I wonder how Sherlock's doing. Probably not very well, he's not as emotionless as he would believe. He does actually care, no matter what he says. He does. I've tried to convince him, but when you've been lying to yourself for years it's hard to stop lying, or believing the lie. I look out at the woods, they are beautiful. We're having dinner at the Stapleton's again. Ms. Stapleton knows how to cook. I think she said something about roast and potatoes for tonight. First I have to find this L.L girl. Shouldn't be too hard. I'll just ask around a bit. Dr. Mortimer is upset about his dog, but frankly, I could care less. Stupid dog didn't like me to begin with. Cockerspaniel. Ugly thing. Few more minutes and I'll be in Coombe Tracey.

_Sherlock_

My phone buzzes,

L.L

Laura Lyons

JW

I know that John. I'm not stupid. I did just do my research. Poor girl, married, father disowned her. The only way out now is divorce. Might as well play along

Oh?

SH

Yes.

Will be having a meeting with her.

JW

Okay John.

Be careful.

SH

?

JW

Some of those people aren't very kind.

I have a feeling she won't be an exception.

SH

Okay Sherlock.

Whatever.

JW

Thank you.

SH

Whatever.

JW

I'll text that boy now. I need him to get me some supplies.

Cartwight?

I need some things.

Are you game?  
SH

Sure thing Mr. Holmes.

C

It's Sherlock.

And thank you.

I'll be expecting you.

You know where to find me.

SH

Absolutely.

C

_John_

"Mrs. Lyons, I'm Dr. John Watson. I'd like to ask you a few questions concerning the death of a one Mr. Charles Baskerville." She sits there and looks at me quietly,

"The police have already been here."

"I'm not the police."

"Oh. What do you want to know?"

"Did you know him?"  
"I met him a couple of times."

"I understand you were talking with him before the night he died. I also understand that you were to have a meeting with him on the night he died." She looks away, guilty? Maybe.

"Yes sir. That is correct." She's a gorgeous girl. Beautiful, but sad looking, like she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. Poor thing. If my father treated me like that I would feel the same way.

"What was it about?"

"It was about my divorce, and before you ask, no. I didn't go. The police asked me the same questions. I didn't go because Mr. Stapleton told me it was better if I didn't, that he could help me better than Charles."

"And you believe him?"

"Absolutely, I have no reason not to believe that he can help me."

"Really?"

"He's a decent man, maybe a bit protective of his sister, but he's kind, and he wants to help me."

"Oh."

"Exactly. Now are we finished here?"

"One last thing, where's your father?"

"Should be down in the town, I don't want to talk to him. I suggest you don't either. He keeps me here against my will, he's a pig and he hates me."


	12. Superstition Part 5

_John_

I trudge down the road to the large house at the end of the street, Mrs. Laura Lyons' father lives there. It's a huge house with a telescope pointing out the back window, obviously he likes observing the stars, or the forest, whichever it is. I rap on the front door, which opens almost as soon as I finish. The man behind the door looks at me a moment before swinging the door wide open,

"Hallo, who are you?"

"Mr. Frankland?" the man nods, "I'm John Watson, I just have some questions about your daughter-?"

"No. No no no no no. I'm not talking about her, not today. I have more pressing matters to deal with. I just got off a court case and I'm winning! Do come in, I have some information you'd probably like to hear!"

"Sorry what?"

"It's about that criminal! You're going to love this!" he leans closer with a peculiar gleam in his eye, "I know where he is."

"Wait. What?"

"Yes! Come in! Come in! I'll show you!"

"Mr. Frankland, I hardly think the time is-"

"Oh it's not big deal! Just come in. You want to know what gave him away? The fact he's using a child to bring him food. Look!" he drags me over to the eye piece, "LOOK! There he is now! He' going up that hill with supplies and then he comes back over with out it. How careless! You won't tell anyone will you? I want to get the credit for the capture of the fugitive. Don't go telling anyone either, do you hear me?"

"Of course sir... I think that maybe it's time for me to leave..." He leans into his telescope and waves me out the door. Odd man. I walk down the path a little way until I can see that Mr. Frankland is no longer at his telescope. Good. I double back and hike up the hill quickly. Over the crest is a small tent, room for only one. Not the escapee then. Who the Hell would come out here and- Wait. Henry and I were followed that night- But that's ridiculous. I make my way to the yellow tent, sticking out oddly against the lush grass. Empty apparently. The occupant when for a walk then? Sounds simple enough. I push back the entrance door, a sleeping bag, laptop, pillow. The pack the kid had. I wonder what's- A shuffling, right behind me. I freeze, the man's back then. Great. The cool metal of a gun's barrel presses against my back and I swallow hard. The gun is cocked,

"John Watson."

_Sherlock_

Is that-JOHN? Yes. He's in my tent. It's no surprise, I did see him go up to see old man Frankland. Probably showed him my hideout. Might as well have some fun. Quietly I pull his gun from the back pocket, taking care not to disturb him, cock it and then place it against his neck, lowering my voice,

"John Watson." He doesn't move. He must have pooed himself. I grin and remove the gun, "John." Finally he turns around slowly,

"SHERLOCK! WHAT THE HELL?" I grin, oh look at him, getting all upset. I hand him his gun,

"Surprised?" He's sputtering now. Oh, this is priceless.

"Sher-Hol-I'mgoingtokillyou!"

"No you won't. I have it all worked out now, and if it's going to work, you need me because you don't know the plan. I'm glad you brought your gun. We'll need it."

"Sherlock, do you mind explaining?"

"Not at all, but I've set everything in motion and now it's only a matter of time before he's caught, if we act before now, then all if for naught! Come on, time to go see Henry."

"How long have you been here?"

"I accompanied the clothes I sent you." Might as well lie a bit. Make him feel safer. The information seems to dawn on him,

"THEN IT WAS YOU IN THE FOREST WE SAW!"

"I was rather hoping you didn't catch that but your email showed that I slipped up a bit."

"You've been following us haven't you?"

"Not really, but I did see you go up to Mr. Frankland's house, poor you. That's a mean old man there, I researched him, I know what he did to his daughter. Shameful that is."

"So... What's the plan?"

"Hm? I suppose I should tell you, you're emails were a great help. Laura Lyons and Mr. Stapleton wrote each other several times, emails that would help get her out of the hole she put herself in, very intimate stuff."

"Intimate?"

"Now if only he could detach his wife..."

"HIW WIFE?"

"Didn't you know? Dear God, what's it like being you? Yes! His wife! Ms. Stapleton is actually Mrs. Stapleton. The two are married which explains Mr. Stapleton's protests against Henry's affections. Mr. Stapleton was a school teacher at some point so it wasn't too hard to trace him."

"But-"

"Because she's much more useful unattached."

"Useful?"

"Getting close to Henry, obvious."

"Oh. Yeah. So what's the plan then."

"What?"

"The plan! You mentioned a plan!"

"Oh. Just follow me." I start to head back to the forest this is going to be an eventful night I think. Suddenly from the depths of the forest comes the unearthly cry of a human being dying. "John! Quick! Where's Henry?"

"Well the Stapleton's invited us over again but I didn't think he'd- Oh God." He takes off in front of me, calling to Henry. I have no choice but to run after him.

"John! Wait! It's still out there! Shit! JOHN!" The medical man isn't listening to me and is soon lost in the trees. I follow his voice, and then the stream of swears and profanities that would make a sailor cringe to a clearing where the mangled corpse of a man lies. His head is bashed in, depicting the terrible sight of the man's last few moments of life. He's wearing Henry's clothes it appears, boots and all. That would be how the hound got him. But he's too short to be Henry, the pants have been rolled up and he's not proper enough to be him.

"That's not Henry. But that's-"

"My neighbor the convict. Poor bloke." There's a crashing in the trees behind us and Mr. Stapleton enters the picture, looking flustered,

"Don't tell me that's- I heard the scream and came running as soon as I could. But that's- Not Henry. Thank God!"

"Why would you think it was Henry?" John asks, although he did mention earlier that they were going over for dinner.

"Well," Stapleton shifts a little uneasily, "I invited the two of you over for dinner, but Mr. Holmes! What are you doing here?" I start. Bugger. He noticed.

"Oh, I just came back to check on John, sorry. I don't think we've properly met, I'm Sherlock Holmes."

"I know who you are. John's told me all about you." I raise an eyebrow, he has? "Anyway, what are we going to do with him? Good riddiance, I heard there was a convict about, I never thought that- It's just horrible." He covers his mouth, "I'd suggest taking him to my house, but my sister would have a fit. Can't have that. I suppose if we move him off the path and cover his face he should be alright till morning?" John nods and grabs the dead man's legs, and with Stapleton's help, they move him to the side of the road.

"Perfect. I'll see you gentlemen later. Pleasure Mr. Holmes, even if it is bad business." He tips an imaginary hat and heads toward his home. Amazing.

"That's amazing."

"What is Sherlock?"

"That that man could come up with a lie like that on the spot."

"You did it."

"I'm very good. Did you see how fast he recovered? Oh yes! Tonight's the night. Will you accompany me back to the Baskerville Manor? I'd like to speak to Henry."

"What do you have in mind Sherlock?"

"A big finish, as always." John smiles and turns down the path toward the house. A big finish indeed.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Now listen, I was a fool to try and make if five chapters, there is so much in the story that it is going to be six. Believe me, I am bummed. I've been busy so it's been a bit late. I should get the last chapter up tomorrow, if you're lucky, which you usually are. Goodnight all my loverly readers and my reviewers and my friends. Sleep well, or have a good day, and BE SAFE._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious_


	13. Superstition Part 6

"Where are we going?"

"To see Henry, and to inform him that we will be returning to London."

"WHAT?"

"Our work here is done."

"But Sherlock-"

"No "but"'s come on." Sherlock waltzes up to the door and calls to Henry, who then opens the door.

"OH! Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson! Do come in." Sherlock frowns as he steps over the threshold. "Have a drink with me? You look pale John? Is everything alright?"

"The convict is dead Henry..."

"What?"

"Sherlock and I stumbled upon the body, thought you might want to know." Henry pales and sits down abruptly.

"Dear God. What killed him?"

"Looks like he tripped over some rocks, pretty hard too. Sherlock says he was running pretty fast to have his head broken open like that, and I tend to agree with him." Henry squeezes his eyes shut a moment,

"Dear God. The hound."

"We can't be-"

"The hound. Oh God. It's going to kill me!"

"Henry please-"

"Oh God."

"Sherlock do somethin-"

"Dear God, strike me down. I don't want to die!"

"Sherlock!" Henry stops fidgeting and calling out and stares at Sherlock,

"Wait... Why are you here? You left when John got here didn't you?" Sherlock smiles,

"Yes but I came back."

"So I see. Can you help me Sherlock?" Sherlock takes a seat, leaving John standing.

"Absolutely, but you have to promise to do everything I-" Sherlock stops mid-sentence and stares over Henry's shoulder. He gestures to one of the pictures over the fireplace. Henry glances back,

"An ancestor, what were you saying?"

"No Henry. WHO is it?"

"Well I'm not sure but that looks like," Henry looks closer, "the one that started the hound thing. Hugo Baskerville. Never mind him. What where you asking for Sherlock?" Sherlock shakes his head as if to clear his head.

"Never mind. Never mind." The hint of a smile plays across his lips, making it evident that he doesn't want to share whatever he has in mind. "A snack would be nice though." John raises an eyebrow, snack? Sherlock never eats. Not while he's on a case.

_About an hour later_

"Sherlock?" John asks quietly. Sherlock's head doesn't move from the back of the armchair. "Sherlock." Still nothing. And then,

"John?"

"What?"

"Come round here and look at this portrait."

"What?"

"Just come see!" Sherlock stands up and looks hard at the picture of Hugo Baskerville, "Come look. What does this look like John? Or who?" John strains forward, squinting at the picture.

"How should I know?" Sherlock rolls his eyes and covers up a few parts of the picture, leaving only the face viewable. John leaps back, "Stapleton!" Sherlock smiles, "Dear God! That's... How did you-?"

"I'm trained to notice faces rather then what's around them. How long till Henry leaves for the Stapleton's for dinner?"

"I don't know!"

"Well go find out!" John leaves the room, letting Sherlock sink back into the arm chair, a wry smile on his face, thinking...

"Sherlock, what do you need me to do?" Henry asks, stirring Sherlock from his thoughts.

"Do everything I say. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely, what's going on?"

"John and I are going home, but you must do everything I tell you."

"Why can't I go to London with you?"

"You're needed here."

"When are you leaving?" Henry asks coldly, obviously not wanting them to leave.

"In a matter of moments. I want you to go have dinner with the Stapleton's anyway." Henry nods,

"I'll get Mr. Barrymore to come with me, you told me not to be out by myself. Especially not that way." Sherlock shakes his head, you have got to do this Henry. You have got to prove that there isn't a dog out there!" Henry shakes his head a moment,

"But Sherlock, please be reasonable, there is something out there, something scared the poor escapee to death. Text Mr. Stapleton that you are on your way. Come now, do it." Henry looks like he's about to refuse, but pulls out his phone instead and sends a text message.

_(Author's intrusion again... For those of you familiar with the story, I'm leaving out a big, seemingly unimportant chunk here in which John and Sherlock go see Mrs. Lyons again. But I don't want to include it. Continue)_

Henry frowns a moment before standing, "I suppose I should get ready shouldn't I?" Sherlock nods but says nothing. Henry stands, and a few minutes later, he exits the house, heading for the Stapleton's. He's cutting across the lawn, through the woods to get there, a quicker way of getting there, but according to legend, unsafe. John shakes his head,

"Sherlock, is this necessary?" He looks up,

"Did he leave?"

"Yes."

"Good. Come on John." He grabs his coat and races out the door, heading straight for Henry's back, taking care to stay quiet and remain hidden. John scratches his head a minute before taking off after him, the military stealth, and sneaking training cutting in and making the two of them nearly invisible against the darkening sky.

"Sherlock!" John hisses at the back of his friend.

"SH! What?"

"What are we doing?"

"Hush or you'll ruin the whole thing. I texted Lestrade yesterday morning, figuring it would be best to have him out here. He's waiting back at my tent. Fetch him, if you don't mind, while I watch our friend. Don't want anything nasty to get him." Sherlock stands on the hill overlooking the Stapleton's house, shooing John away. 'Why does he need Lestrade, I wonder.' John thinks to himself as he makes his way over the bluff to the tent. As promised, Lestrade sits outside with his phone in hand looking bored. He looks up as John approaches and stands to greet him.

"Come on. Sherlock said he was expecting you, but on a night like tonight, I don't want to leave him by himself for too long." Lestrade nods and follows John back to the look out. Sherlock doesn't acknowledge that they've arrived but continues to stare at the house. The night deepens and a thick fog falls against the forest, clogging up the path. Sherlock swears and the trio is forced to move back so as not to lose sight of the path. Sherlock swears again as the fog thickens and stretches across everything. Suddenly the door to the Stapleton's house slams and Henry strides through the fog, parting it, only to have it close around him again. He disappears for a moment and Sherlock swears quietly again, searching the fog for any sign of Henry. There is a soft thud coming from the other direction and Sherlock swears, pulling a gun from his pocket and training it toward the sound. Nothing. Henry reappears and continues to walk down the path unknowingly. This time John swears too, followed by Lestrade,

"What do-"

"SH!" Silence falls on the group again as the footsteps of a large animal sound again. Closer this time. The dog finally enters sight and Henry screams, it's a picture of Hell. Large, black, with what looks like fire coming off of it's snout. It bounds toward Henry and a shot rings out, Sherlock fired fist.

_John_

As soon as Sherlock fired, I knew it was time. I shot at the dog, and Lestrade soon shot it with me. Sherlock emptied his gun and threw it to the side before running to help our friend. At first he had thought we were a bit to late because the dog had fallen on top of Henry after he had fallen to the floor in fright. We managed to push the dog off of him and discovered that Henry had fainted and was lost to the world, and would be for a while. Sherlock took the time to examine the dog before the rest of us raced off to the house to see if we could catch Mr. Stapleton. When we got there, the house had been deserted and Mrs. Stapleton was tied up in one of the rooms. It turns out th-

"JOHN? What are you doing!" I sigh and step back from my computer.

"What Sherlock? What do you need?"

"Could you pass me my violin?"

"Where is it?"

"On the couch..."

"Where are you?"

"In the armchair..."

"Why can't you get it?"

"I don't want to get up. What are you doing that's more important than my violin?"

"Typing up the 'Hound of Baskerville' case. What do you think?" I can hear him scoff from the living room,

"John. That's not going to end up on your blog is it?" I shrug, knowing that he's looking in to the kitchen from his chair.

"Maybe."

"Please?"

"FINE!" I hit save and then close my laptop. I fling Sherlock's violin at him and then collapse into the couch. "Play for me." Sherlock smiles,

"That's what I was going to do. Idiot."


	14. Nails and Blood

_Sherlock Age: 21_

I thrust my arm behind my bed. Mycroft's been in here again. I hate when he does that. It's so annoying. This time he managed to hide my notebook behind my bed. I roll my eyes as my fingers close around the cool spiral bound spine and I tug it up. Git. My arm rakes across the back of my headboard and I cry out, dropping the notebook. Shit! What was that? I pull my arm back up and gasp, blood, trickling down my arm. Dear God. The burning starts, out of the blue. Right after I see the blood, my brain registers, God. This hurts. I don't say anything, I can't. I just stare, the blood and pain making me still. The pain increases and suddenly I scream,

"SHIT!" I race to the bathroom. The severity of my situation suddenly dawns on me. This isn't good. This isn't the best thing that's ever happened to me. I turn on the tap and throw my arm under the water, watching my blood go from scarlet to orange as it twists in the water and circles the drain before disappearing. Lost forever. "MYCROFT!" I shout, not caring if he's out. I don't know how to make myself better. I don't know if I've hit a artery or anything. With the water still running I reach under the sink and pull out the first aid kid, opening it with one hand and fumbling with the gauze. I know I'm supposed to wrap it up and apply pressure, but apart from that I know nothing. I don't know how to take care of myself properly. "MYCROFT!" I don't bother to dry my arm off or to turn off the tap, but wrap my arm tightly instead, hoping that it'll staunch the blood flow. Maybe I'll live. Sherlock! That's a horrible attempt at a joke. Maybe you should learn to take care of yourself. I sigh and snip the gauze and tape it before flexing my fingers.

"Sherlock?" The front door slams. Of course he was out.

"I sliced myself you git!"

"What?" His footsteps sound in the hall and he pokes his head in as I reach across the sink and turn the faucet off.

"I sliced myself!" He looks confused,

"How did you do that?"

"You hid my notebook behind my bed, there was a nail there. Thanks a lot. I hope I don't get tetnis or die from blood loss or something." Mycroft grabs my arm and examines the wound, "OI! Let go! That hurts! Mycroft!" He says nothing but continues to stare at my bandaged cut.

"You'll be fine." He says at last, dropping my arm back to my side.

"No thanks to you." He rolls his eyes and leaves the bathroom, kicking his shoes off as he goes.

"You need to be more careful. That's my blood too you know. Don't go wasting it."


	15. Wind

_Sherlock Age: 17_

I tap my pencil to my paper, thinking. I've got nothing to write. Mycroft said I should go into poetry, but I don't see the point. He says if he doesn't get anything by the end of the day then he's going to find someway to make me write a poem. I'd rather not find out what he has in mind. I sigh. Maybe I'll write something sappy to make him shut up. I have something in mind... It's not very good I don't think. I trace the letters, titling the page: Wind. I blink once and capture the moment in my head before I start to write.

_Cool and refreshing_

_rustling the leaves_

_blowing through your hair. _

_It is a nuisance_

_but you love it too much to care._

_You let it blow,_

_you watch the clouds,_

_you smile._

_You actually smile_

_You stand against the wind_

_and you smile._

_The air is sweet_

_it smells like rain._

_The sun peeks through_

_the clouds periodically._

_Warming your back,_

_shining on your hair. _

_Throwing colours about._

_Leaves blow in front of your path,_

_and you smile,_

_actually smile. _

_The sky is so blue_

_the wind is barely there,_

_the day is so beautiful_

_you want to make it last _

_so you write about it._

_You write and you smile._

_The wind can make you smile,_

_and you're full of life._

_You let it blow,_

_you won't be moved,_

_you love it._

_And you smile. _

_Not much can do that anymore,_

_but the wind can. _

_The wind can make you smile. _

_And that's good. _

I finish the poem and set my pencil down. Perfect, something like this should get Mycroft off my back. Personally I don't like it much, but maybe Mycroft will stop pestering me about writing. I set my notebook on the bench and get up to leave, leaving it there. He'll find it. He always does. Else he wouldn't be Mycroft, he'd be a stupid idiot that doesn't know where to find anything. I head down the street and turn down the street, nearly bumping into Mycroft as he comes to collect me. He throws me a questioning look, and I nod toward the bench before brushing past him to go. Good day. The air is beautiful today, and it smells like rain. The sky is only slightly overcast, but maybe the rain will come tonight. That would make my day. It would make my week. The smell of rain is always a beautiful thing. I don't know why I love it so much. I don't like rain though. Maybe it's best if I don't look out and see the rain. Rain doesn't feel good anymore. It doesn't make me smile like it used to. Rain is a plague. I need to go home. Where is home? Wherever Mycroft puts me. It's been about a year since I ran away from home, in the rain. I blink hard, turning down another street, not caring where I go. Today is my day. And nothing can ruin that.


	16. Hope

_Sherlock Age: 13_

"Well I don't see why I have to go to the dentist!" Sherlock complains as his mother hustles him into the car.

"Sherlock, you need to get your teeth cleaned like a good little boy."

"But mum!"

"No Sherlock. It's important. You remember telling me about that tooth that was hurting yesterday?" Sherlock shakes his head,

"No. It never hurt!"

"Sherlock." She straps herself in and backs out of the driveway. "We aren't arguing about this right now."

"But I brush my teeth!"

"I'm getting mine done too! It's for the wedding!"

"Boring! I don't want to go to a bloody wedding!"

"Language Sherlock."

"But mother-!"

"No 'but's! You're coming with me! It's your uncle's wedding, and you're going to be there to support him!" Sherlock frowns and stares out the window.

"I don't want people's fingers in my mouth!"

"It's not that bad."

"Yeah it is! And I'm sure that Uncle is cheating on his future wife. It's not going to last mum." She doesn't say anything for a while. Obviously Sherlock's upset her.

"What gave you that impression Sherlock?" Sherlock mumbles his answer. "Speak up Sherlock. I can't hear you back there."

"The fact that he's been putting off the wedding until she practically demanded it, and he's always late. Always. He can't even look her in the eye properly. Have you noticed that. It's as if he's hiding something... I wonder what that is." Sherlock doesn't say anything for the rest of the ride and slams the car door roughly before storming into the dentist's office. "I'll tell you right now, anything that hurts me, is going to hurt you. I was volunteered for this, I didn't want to come, and I still don't want to be here. Make if quick, and I'll be out of your hair. Deal?" The receptionist looks confused,

"I'll just sign you in then?" Sherlock says nothing and sits down heavily in a waiting chair, scowl deepening on his face. A dentist appears at the door leading to the back room,

"Sherlock?" He stands and follows the lady back.

_Thirty minutes later_

Sherlock stomps back outside to the car, waiting for his mother to unlock the doors.

"See? That wasn't so bad."

"Then why am I still angry?" He asks grumpily. His mother smiles,

"Because you want to make my life miserable. How's that working out for you?"

"Are you miserable?" She laughs,

"Not really. It's pretty funny actually Sherlock. If not a bit childish."

"MUM!"

"It's the truth Sherlock! And don't think I didn't see you try to bite the dentist." Sherlock grins mischievously.

"Yeah that was good wasn't it?"

"Yeah okay. Maybe it was. But don't do it again yeah?" Sherlock just smiles. "And don't say anything at the wedding. It's supposed to be nice."

"It won't last. You know that."

"Yeah, but it's nice to hope right?" Sherlock furrows his brow.

"Is it?"

"Yes it is."

"What would you have me say?"

"Nothing Sherlock. Not a word. Are we clear?"

"Yes mum." There is a few moments of silence, "Do I have to wear that wretched tuxedo!"


	17. See? I Was Right

_Sherlock Age: 13_

Sherlock steps out of the car and tugs at his bow tie.

"I don't see why I even have to go to this. It's pointless."

"It's your Uncle's wedding. Show a bit of respect." Sherlock rolls his eyes and follows after his mother and brother. Father would be joining them in a few hours, he had some things at work to fix.

"Mycroft, you know as well as I do that it's not going to last."

"One can hope."

"It's destined for disaster. You know that." Mycroft nudges his younger brother,

"You might want to shut up now Sherlock. Remember what mum said?"

"Not to say anything right." Sherlock slides into the bench of the church next to his brother, staring straight ahead. "You know the whole reason I decided to come was because I heard there was supposed to be food." Mycroft smiles,

"You didn't have a choice. I did. That's the whole reason I decided to come too."

"You're fat Mycroft, of course you did." Mycroft cuffs his younger brother across the head and their mother reaches across the pair of boys,

"Pack it in boys! Now is not the time to be goofing off."

"Whatever mummy." Mycroft sighs and leans back in the bench. The traditional bridal music starts and the congregation stands up and turns toward the doors. Mycroft leans down to whisper in Sherlock's ear, "I'll be at your wedding someday." Sherlock scoffs,

"As if. I'm not getting married ever." Mycroft chuckles quietly,

"You say that now."

"I'm not." The bride slowly makes her way down the aisle, gripping her father's arm tightly. Several people around Sherlock are sobbing into handkerchiefs and dabbing their eyes silently. Sherlock rolls his eyes. He doesn't understand what's so special about this. The minister at the front of the church looks at the couple a moment before beginning,

"You have written your vows." The two nod and hand him the slips of paper. He reads them over, "Dearly beloved. We are gathered here to show our support in the marriage of Gillian Borter and Kathrine Yule."

_Several months later_

"Uncle Gillian and Kathrine split up." Mycroft informs Sherlock when he comes home from school. Sherlock smiles,

"What did I tell you. Few months and it's all over. Do you know why?" Mycroft shakes his head,

"But I can hazard a guess."

"Pray continue."

"I bet she found out that he was cheating on her."

"With her sister?"

"Cousin, but close enough." Sherlock smiles before setting his bags down.

"Does mother know?"

"She will when she gets home."

"How did you find out?"

"Gill left a message on the machine for mum."

"Will you play it for me?" Mycroft nods and reaches over lazily to press the play button on the machine.

"_Rosanna? Will you call me back please? Kathrine and I... Well things aren't working out so well. You can tell Mycroft that he was right. He usually is,"_ Gill sighs, _"This time I rather wish he wasn't right. Anyway. Call me as soon as you can please? I'd like to talk. I'll be sending down some chocolates soon, but it would be nice to talk to you before that. Thanks."_ The sound of the phone hanging up and the machine spits out in a robotic voice,

"End of message." Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"I like how mum said _not_ to say any and you did anyway." Mycroft smirks at him,

"Course I did. He's my favorite uncle."

"I hope mother beats your arse."

"Watch your language, and she won't. She loves me best."

"Whatever Mycroft."

* * *

_Author's note: These drabbles might get to be a bit spaced out. I'm working on a new 'Primeval' fanfiction at the moment that has really engrossed me. That's why this one is late, and short. Sorry for any inconvenience, but I am really addicted to 'Primeval' right now and thought that maybe I should write a fanfiction. For those of you who watch (watched) 'Primeval' I suggest you go look at it. It's really made a splash. Thanks for all the support so far, you all are brilliant. My muses really. :D Have a great week. I'll try to get more up soon, but as I said, busy with another story. I'll take ideas too. Much love and homemade cookies,_

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	18. Untitled

Untitled

In the darkness of the night,

a cold, moonless night, on the streets of London,

a single shot ripples through the air.

A single cry is uttered.

He falls to the ground, bleeding.

For once in his life, at the end,

he can't forgive himself for leaving.

He feels regret as he lies there.

Dying.

In a darkened room

a telephone rings, waking the sleeper.

He moans that he can't believe it.

He can't be dead.

His best friend.

No one cries much.

No point.

The deceased is gone,

the livelihood of his friend gone.

All purpose to live,

destroyed.

He doesn't think he can go on.

But he does for his friend.

The funeral is quiet.

All dressed in black.

No tears, no sorrow.

He tries not to cry as they carry past

the box that holds his friend.

Years of military service dissipating

as they place the box in the hole.

Loss is all he feels.

The world is not as bright,

the sunlight not as pleasant,

the future not so hopeful.

He can feel nothing but regret.

He stayed home when his friend asked

him to leave with him.

He refused.

In some ways he feels responsible

for his friends death,

he knows he shouldn't,

that it isn't really his fault

but he can't stop the feeling of responsibility

creeping into his heart.

Late at night he stares at the ceiling,

wishing he could change things.

Make things better.

Death makes thing so much more complicated.

He doesn't understand why.

He doesn't want to know.

Why?

He asks himself.

Why did he have to leave?

It seems nearly impossible.

All it took was a shot,

a single shot.

Somehow it feels all wrong.

Wrong that it took so little,

one piece of metal,

one pinch of powder,

one squeeze

to end his friend's life.

To rid the world

of the best detective of all time.

Sherlock Holmes.

_~fin~_

_

* * *

_

Author's note: I know it's not strictly speaking for this category, but I figured, why not. It was an assignment from my creative writing teacher to write about the death of a celebrity. He told me I could do Sherlock Holmes, so I did. I never felt so bad for killing a character in my entire life. Honestly. It was horrible. Anyway, thanks for reading, don't forget to review. LOVE YOU ALL.

Until Gallifrey is free,

Time Lord Victorious


	19. The Coat

_Author's note: I found this adorable little graphic that I based this little short on it. I'll send you a link if you PM me. That is all._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious _

_John_

I stare at the back of the door where to coat hangs. Sherlock's gone out, the air has cooled a bit, and the coat has hung on the back of the door for several weeks. I know I shouldn't, Sherlock wouldn't approve, but it's just sat there for days, untouched. I know it's probably too long, and probably too hot. I open the living room window and let the cool breeze flow through the room before facing the coat again. It's just hanging there. Looking pitiful and unused. I run my fingers over the coarse fabric. When Sherlock puts on his coat, well. There's nothing quite like the sight of Sherlock running with his coat flaring out behind him. He hasn't had to use if for a while, it's kind of sad that I miss the coat. I think it must make the Sherlock Holmes look. He looks so... Small without it. That or he just needs to eat. Either way. I take the coat off the hook and swing it around my shoulders, plunging my arms into the sleeves. The hem of the coat nearly touches the floor and the sleeves go way past my hands. I feel ridiculous. Kind of like I did when I was a kid, trying on my father's clothes. I think I must smile, because I feel so ridiculous, and because I've got my best friend's coat on. I want to go look in the mirror. I start to go for the bathroom, only to discover that the coat is flaring out behind me as I walk. I grin. No way. I run up the stairs, and then down them, watching the coat flair out behind me. This is so cool. I race down the stairs and out the door onto the street, nearly bumping into Sherlock as he comes back home into the flat. He stops, looks me up and down, and crosses his arms, frowning.

"What the Hell?" is all he says before looking at me again, and then going back into the flat. I hang my head, nothing changes. That's what my father did to me when he found me pretending to be him, look at me, question me and then leave. I go back into the flat and close the door behind me, heading for the living room. The back of the door looks so bare now. Sherlock comes down the stairs, arms over his head, trying to fit into my sweater. I look down at his coat, and then up at my jumper.

"What the Hell?"


	20. Deployment Part 1

_John Age: 25_

The thick paper drops to the floor as I stare. This couldn't be... I hadn't. No. Harry walks in from the kitchen door and looks at me a minute.

"You look like you've seen a ghost Johnny boy. What's the matter?" I blink hard, trying to clear my head from the denial. It's just... Wrong. Not right now, not when I'm finally putting my life back together. Harry walks over to the kitchen table and turns me to face her. "John? What's happened?" All playfulness has left her voice, she knows I'm serious. "What's wrong?"

"I've-" I falter. My throat is dry, I don't know how to phrase it.

"Spit it out John."

"I've been-" I take a deep breath, "Harry, I've been deployed." Her jaw drops.

"Come again?"

"I've been deployed. To Afghanistan." Confusion crosses her face, and she brushes her cropped blond hair from her face.

"Wait- What? What do you mean you've been deployed?"

"I'm going to Afghanistan to fight. With the army." She blinks her blue eyes, suddenly standing out as her face drained it's colour. She sets her jaw,

"When?"

"Next weekend."

"So soon?"

"The letter came a bit late."

"Ah." She cuffs me in the arm, "I know we don't really get a long much, and you don't approve of my drinking habits, but I can't help but offer a drink. What do you say? You and I? One last drink before you go off to war." I shake my head,

"Harry, what would Clara say?"

"Since when do you care about Clara?"

"Since she moved in. It wouldn't just be a you and me kind of thing, it'd turn into a, Clara, Harry kind of thing and I'd pass out on the couch and you two would leave me there. Just like last time." Harry's face falls and I suddenly feel bad. I touch her shoulder and she looks me in the face,

"I'm sorry John. I'll just... Go tell Clara the news eh?"

"Yeah." She turns away from me, leaving me in the kitchen by myself. I hadn't thought... I reach down and pick up the letter, reading it through one more time. I had finally made the necessary changes in my life and was just getting things back in order, and now this? God must hate me or something. I have just finished medical training as well, and now this. Really? Is this how life is? The patter of Clara's feet on the stairs causes me to turn toward the door and Clara rushes in. Flinging her arms around my neck she starts to sob.

"I'm so sorry John! I'm so sorry!" She's like the sister I never had. I hug her back. Harry would never hug me. Never. She hates me I think, and probably always has. And now I'm being deployed? I squeeze Clara's slight frame a moment longer, feeling safe and secure. Maybe it won't be so bad...

_To Be Continued_


	21. Deployment Part 2

I stand at the airport, surrounded by my friends. Half the hospital is here, wanting to wish me off. I rub my eyes, maybe it wasn't a good idea to stay up all night, packing and fretting. No one says much, the idea that I'm going away hasn't fully sunk in yet, I don't think it will until my aeroplane has disappeared from sight. A sort of buzzing has settled itself on my brain, numbing it from pretty much everything. We've stood for what feels like hours, waiting for my plane to arrive. Harry and Clara are exchanging murmured words, I don't know what they are talking about. The rest of the group from the hospital is circling up, talking in hushed tones, and I stand by myself, facing the door. I close my eyes. I carry myself back to a time when life was good. Mother had just got home from work, after stopping off at the store. She called Harry and I down the stairs and wanted us to help bake chocolate chip cookies with her. At first, the teenage Harry, absolutely refused to help, but after much persuading, the two of us helped, laughing and pouring flour all over each other. I think that is one of the only times Harry and I actually got along in our childhood. Most of the time we were squabbling and arguing. I feel a hand on my shoulder and slowly open my eyes. The plane was boarding, and I hadn't even heard. Harry stands in front of me, sort of awkwardly, but I can tell that she's scared to see me leave. I reach down and hug her, something I haven't done since I was seven. She hugs me back, burying her face in my shoulder,

"Just... Don't die okay John?" I nod,

"I'll try Harry, trust me on that." She squeezes me and then steps back so everyone could have a go. Clara hugs me next, crying into my shoulder and mumbling something about how I shouldn't have to leave, and how it's not fair. The hospital groupie takes turns patting me on the back, wishing me luck and nudging me toward the door.

"Bye John! Good luck!" Harry calls behind me.

"Keep in touch yeah?" I turn back to the group and wave before walking onto the plane. I take a seat by the window, mostly to torture myself as we lift off for a long journey. I lean my head against the glass and watch London pull away and shrink further and further as we fly higher. I close my eyes again. Why me? Why now? I suppose it's a learning experience, and Harry was actually crying. Maybe she cares more than I give her credit for. A young man is sitting next to me, he leans over, holding his hand out,

"I'm Tyler."

"John." I shake his hand. He smiles at me,

"Afghanistan?"

"Yeah."

"Me too. Who came to see you off? I saw you standing there, you looked kind of alone, but there were some people around you."

"My sister and some coworkers." He nods before facing the seat in front of him,

"Are you scared?" he's being absolutely serious.

"Just a little bit." He nods,

"Me too." I rub my eyes. "Did you stay up all night too?" He wonders aloud.

"Yeah. Probably shouldn't have, eh?"

"I don't know. It helped clear the air between my girlfriend and I. And it helped with my debate."

"Debate?"

"Whether or not to propose." I smile,

"Did you?"

"Oh yeah! I figured, if I'm going to war might as well be able to come back to my fiance. What about you? You got a girlfriend?" I shake my head,

"Unattached. I feel like it's better that way. I don't want a girlfriend crying over my grave."

"You think we're going to die?"

"It's a possibility." The both of us fall quiet, thinking about what could happen, and the movements of the plane lull me to a slumber, nodding me off to a dreamless sleep.


	22. Faking It

_John_

"SHERLOCK! You're sick! You can't leave the flat, you'll just make yourself more sick." Sherlock hangs his head,

"I can't just stay in here John, it's suffocating."

"Sherlock!"

"FINE!" He flops angrily onto the couch, pulling his dressing gown around him. "Just go to work!"

"You will not go through that door."

"Fine! Whatever."

"Promise?" He turns to me,

"I promise not to go through that door."

"Thank you!" He screws his face up grumpily before turning back to the couch cushions. Maybe today I don't have to worry about him. Fat chance. Knowing Sherlock he'll probably find a way to get around it. I walk down the street thinking about what's going to happen at work today when I realize. I haven't eaten breakfast. I usually eat before leaving the flat, which means I've probably left the coffee pot on. I swear loudly and turn on my heel to get back to the flat. I have barely opened the door when I hear the window shutting loudly. I poke my head it and see Sherlock trying to get back to the couch as quickly as possible.

"What John? What do you need?"

"Where you just- You know what? Never mind. I'm just going to turn the coffee pot off and grab a snack before heading off to work." He nods and straightens the couch cushions waiting for me to leave again.

"Leave the sick ones in peace and go heal the other people." He says grumpily as I start to leave again.

"Really Sherlock? That's totally childish." He smiles at me before I close the flat door. I go back down the stairs, making sure to be extra noisy and open the front door, slamming it and then sticking to the wall as I sneak up the stairs again. I push open the flat door silently and slide into the room. Sherlock's hanging halfway out the window, one arm holding onto the latch and one leg gripping the sill as he tries to find a way to get down.

"SHERLOCK!" I cry loudly, causing him to jump. His hand loses it's grip on the sill and he nearly tumbles out the window.

"Help me!" He shouts up at me, holding his hand out for me to pull him back in with.

"Well if you needed help you shouldn't have been trying to get out!" I grab his hand and help pull him back into the room.

"Thank you John!" I roll my eyes,

"What did I say about leaving the flat Sherlock?"

"You told me I couldn't go through that door. I wasn't going through the door, I was going out the window." I shake my head.

"In your pajamas?"

"I was going to change as soon as I knew I could get out."

"I suppose there's no way I'm going to work today?"

"Not if you don't want me to leave. You have to watch me all day."

"I feel like a damned baby sitter. Why shouldn't I just call Mycroft?" He visibly pales.

"You wouldn't! He wouldn't come!"

"He would if I told him you were trying to kill yourself."

"He wouldn't believe you."

"Shall we test that theory Sherlock?" He pauses and glares at me. A look of positive loathing.

"… No."

"Thought not. Now can I go to work?" He narrows his eyes and nods.

"Do you really want to go though? I have this great case that I could use your great expertise on if you wouldn't mind."

"What shall I tell my boss?"

"You're sick."

"For the fifth time this month?"

"Maybe not. Then how about, your sister is ill and you need to give her moral support?"

"That's actually not a bad idea! I really don't want to go to the office today."

"See?" He smiles, "I've got much better plans. None of that boring doctor work that you usually do."

"You aren't really sick are you?" He shrugs.

"Oh I don't know. Maybe I am. A little bit." I glare, he's wasted my time. I really don't want to go to the office though. I pull out my phone and make a call.

"Alright Sherlock. Where do we start?"

_Author's Note: I am sincerely sorry about the looooong wait. My computer decided that it was going to murder itself and I sat there for twenty minutes watching it boot up and then turn off to boot up and turn off again, praying that it would turn on so I could work on this. I swear that there will be more this week because I got a new laptop. Even though I hate it, it works. Thanks so much for your patience. I'm thinking about doing another adapted story. Thoughts on this are welcome and appreciated. Much love._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious _


	23. You Wouldn't Think It

John watches as Sherlock paces the living room.

"What?"

"What John?"

"Why are you pacing?"

"A particularly _barmy _case. If you have any other useless questions, please enlighten me." John frowns and sits back on the couch. Sherlock clasps his hands behind his back, head lowered. "Well that could- But then…. No."

"Do you need help Sherlock?"

"WHAT? NO!" Sherlock continues to pace, mumbling under his breath.

"Sherlock?"

"It's nothing! I just-…" he pauses and looks out the window, "I just need a bath."

"…. What?" Sherlock turns on his heel and walks down the hall. From his position on the couch John can hear the tub running. "What?" He goes to the bathroom, standing at the door, watching. Sherlock sits in the tub, legs hanging over the lip, staring grumpily ahead, fully clothed. The water runs, filling the tub with warm water.

"John."

"What the _Hell_ are you doing Sherlock?" He looks at John with a look of contempt.

"What does it look like John?"

"I'm not sure…"

"I'm taking a bath."

"That's not how you take a bath Sherlock!"

"Well I'm not taking a bath. I'm thinking."

"But you just said- You know what? Never mind."

"Never mind what?"

"Never mind you, Sherlock."

"Whatever John." John stares at Sherlock as his legs dangle and he sits there thinking. Suddenly, Sherlock sits up, excitement apparent in his eyes. "BRILLIANT! Oh! That is just beautiful! So simple! That is just-." He stands up, water dripping all over the tile floor.

"What Sherlock?"

"The case John! I've solved the case!"

"That's great Sherlock, but you've dripped water all over my Goddamn floor." Sherlock ignores him and walks out of the bathroom down the hall to get his coat. "Sherlock! You can't leave like that!" Sherlock pulls his coat on,

"And why not?"

"It's- You'll catch a cold. Again."

"As if." Sherlock pull open the flat door and starts to head down the stairs.

"Just where do you think you're going young man?" Mrs. Hudson asks at the foot of the stairs. Sherlock's eyes widen and he turns and runs up the stairs.

"Nowhere Mrs. Hudson!"

"That's right! Get back up there!" Sherlock closes the door behind him, taking his coat off and hanging it on the hook.

"What happened Sherlock?"

"Mrs. Hudson is convinced that I'm the one who stripped the wires on the coffee maker."

"Was it you?"

"Of course it was, don't be daft."

"Then you have nothing to complain about."

"She wants me to give her ours." John's eyes narrow. No way.

"You better not."

"That's what I said." Sherlock flops on the couch,

"OI! Watch it! Go get cleaned up first! You're getting the couch all wet!" John hauls Sherlock up and shoves him toward his room. "We do share a flat."

"Spoil the fun why don't you!" John shakes his head,

"And turn off the bathtub faucet while you're at it."]


	24. An Unmemorable Encounter

_John Age: 18_

My best mate Taylor claps me on the shoulder. "That was _brilliant_!" I smile modestly,

"It was alright." Taylor grins and turns to the rest of the guys,

"Hey gents! Did you see that? A perfect pitch!" The rest of the lads cheered enthusiastically. "Want to see him do it again?" More cheering. I frown, shaking my head as Taylor presses the ball into my hands again. The crowd takes up chanting,

"WAT-SON! WAT-SON! WAT-SON! WAT-SON!" I roll the ball in my palms, feeling the weight, memorizing every ounce and the amount of power it would take to make it fly. Perfect ball, perfect pitch.

"Come on John!" Taylor murmurs behind me, "You can do it mate." I close my eyes, pull back and let loose the ball, letting it fly through the air like it wanted to. I open my eyes as the crowd holds it's breath, watching the ball soar. The arc is perfect. The ball hits the ground with a thud, landing right on the white 'x' painted on the pavement. It bounces a couple times, but everything is drowned out while everyone jumps up and down, shouting my name. Stupid clarinet never got me this fame, the girls off to the side wave at me and whisper behind their hands to each other, nothing like that ever used to happen to me. The guys behind me ruffle my hair and pat me on the back,

"Nice job John."'

"Perfect."

"That was brilliant!"

"Do it again?"

"How do you do that?"

"WATSON!"

"There is no way that can be real!" The school bell rings and everyone groans. After a half hour of what they deem 'lunch time' we have to go back in and 'learn'. I don't understand. We don't learn anything really, and it's not important enough to me for me to even want to go back in. My mates troop off toward the school doors but I hang back. I'm not going in today. I'll just skip the rest of the day. Taylor is the only one who looks back,

"You coming John?" I shake my head,

"You go on in. I'll catch up." The girls are gone, and good riddance. I didn't even want to really talk to them anyway. Taylor nods and pulls the door shut behind him. I offer a smile at the window before turning and hopping the fence. I drop to the pavement and shove my hands in my pockets, walking down the sidewalk with my head bowed. The cars drive down the road faster than the speed limit, the cops chase them down, it's the same deal every day. Sometimes I wish my life wasn't so boring and pointless like it is now. The same deal, every day. I wish I could get out of the routine I set for myself and have time for adventure. The same pointless thing, every day has gotten on my nerves. For the past month I've been thinking about running away, not running away, but doing something different. My mobile rings and I sigh. Only one person would be calling me, knowing that I'd be skipping school.

"What Harry?"

"Oh good. You've skipped school again. Where are you?" No 'Hello'. No 'How was your day John?'. No. Just 'Where are you?'.

"Out. Why?"

"I was just curious. I am allowed to worry about you." I sniff awkwardly,

"You hate me Harry. You never worry."

"Well let's just say that today I worried." This catches me off guard. Harry never worries. Ever. Something must have happened.

"What happened Harry?"

"Nothing John. Nothing's happened." There's a lie. I can tell. The quiver in her voice shows that something has happened.

"Don't you dare lie to me Harriet Jane Watson!" Harry hisses on the other end of the phone.

"Don't call me that."

"TELL ME." Harry sighs before beginning,

"You know how dad was sick a few months back?"

"They said it was nothing! The doctors said it was nothing."

"Well now they say that it's cancer now."

"WHAT?"

"They said it was cancer! The results came in today!" Cancer? How could they not know about it until now? They're doctors for Christ's sake!

"What?"

"Dad has cancer John." A cold feeling rushes over me. No way. He can't have…. Cancer. That's just, wrong. He's my father. He's always there for me. Always gave me what I wanted, always helped me in school, helped me get out of going to school, helped me get a job. He helped me with everything. "John? You still there?"

"How long?" I whisper in a broken voice, tears threatening to fall.

"What?"

"How long has he got?"

"Two months." I close my eyes and the tears stop threatening and attack, tumbling down my cheeks.

"That's it?" I croak, hoping it isn't true. The last shred of hope is removed in two words.

"Maybe less."

"I'm coming home now." Harry doesn't say anything, but I can tell she's upset. She tries to hide her fear by covering it up with something, trying to make it seem like no big deal. It's how she copes, not me. I don't cope that way. I have to know the truth. "Thanks for telling me Harry. I wouldn't want it to creep up on me."

"I'm sorry, I'm scared too. I don't want-…" She stops talking. Maybe she's not as invincible as I thought. "Come home safe okay?"

"I'll try Harry. See you soon." I stuff my phone into my pocket, pushing the tears off my face with my hands. My father is going to die, and there is nothing I can do about it.

In this instant I know what I want to be. I want to be someone who saves people. I don't want another child like me to find out that they can't save their father, that the people they trusted to keep them safe and healthy were wrong. I want to be the one that can save their family, save them from the pain of death. Or at least trying to save them. I want to be a doctor. I want to save people like my father. I'm going to school. I'm going to be the best doctor that London has ever seen.

_Sherlock Age: 17_

I race down the street without looking where I was going, accidently bumping into someone. He looked about seventeen, sandy blond hair, tears running down his cheeks, and his school uniform was rumpled. Don't think about it know Sherlock. Mycroft is going to murder you. I grin widely, holding the bag with the fish in front of me, glancing over my shoulder to see Mycroft pushing his way past the boy I had just bumped into. Smiling I continue to run down the street.

_John Age: 18_

A boy with curly black hair turns the corner, grinning manically, holding a clear bag with a frightened looking goldfish in it. He doesn't even look at me, bumping into me, pushing me to the side. He glances over his shoulder, catches my eyes, looks over my shoulder and continues on his way, smiling wider all the while. What the Hell? Another, older looking man rounds the corner at a much slower speed, but still manages to bump into me. That's twice now. He runs after the younger man, chasing him it would appear. I wipe at the tears on my cheeks again, accomplishing nothing. They still fall. My father. He's dying. I cross the street to the nearest bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive. Shouldn't be long now. There is a loud shout down the street and the guy from before appears to be shouting after his brother.

"SHERLOCK!" At least that's what it sounds like. What kind of a stupid name is that? The bus pulls up and I clamber on, ready to get home. I don't want to go home, feeling like if I don't go home, my father will have longer to live. It isn't true, which is why I'm forcing myself to go, but I wish it was.


	25. Witness Part 1

_Author's note: This is Sir Aurthur Conan Doyle's story, that I've just adapted and modernized for your enjoyment. I rather think I'll be having fun too. Even if it does take me forever to finish it, due to a tremendous headache. I'm going to try and finish it today though, so bear with me._

Sherlock holds the door open for John as the two enter the flat.

"Well that was pointless."

"It was the cinema Sherlock. It was Sarah's choice today and _you_ didn't have to come you know."

"And stay here by myself. Again? You do know she's cheating on you right?"

"I'm not even going to ask why you think that."

"I don't think John, I see the facts. You're just being ignorant. As usual." He sits down in his favorite armchair, pulling John's laptop into his lap, turning it on and waiting for his email to come up. John takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table, facing Sherlock.

"Why do you want to destroy my relationship with Sarah? That's just…. Rude, and not like a flat mate at all." Sherlock glances up at John, rolling his eyes,

"I'm not trying to 'destroy your relationship with Sarah'. I'm trying to make it so you observe and embrace the facts. It's only logical that because you live with me you should harness the same amount of- ," He cuts himself off midsentence, "Oh dear God no." John stands up, looking over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Who's Charles Milverton?"

"One of the fiercest blackmailers this city has ever seen. And someone I don't want to deal with today. Oh bugger. He says he's coming by at six. How long does that give us John?"

"Ten minutes." Sherlock frowns, lines creasing his face. He closes the laptop and leans back in his chair. He purses his lips and presses his fingertips together, placing them under his chin. "Who is he Sherlock?"

"When you go to the Zoo, and you see those snakes, the ones with the flat faces and the slithering slimy bodies, do you get that feeling in the pit of your stomach, both of fear and of disgust? That's how I feel about Charles Milverton."

"Sherlock. No games."

"He's the king of blackmail. If you've got dirt, he'll dig it up and threaten you with it. He'll squeeze you till you're dry and he won't stop squeezing. I've worked on thousands of cases John, most of them murder cases, and none have made me feel more sick than this man does. God help the poor soul he's found something on. What he does is he bribes his way into getting the information. I know for a fact that he bribed his way past a social security worker, for _two lines of script._ That was the downfall of the family. He paid over seven thousand pounds for it too. He does it for fun John."

"Can't they just arrest him? I mean it can't be legal." Sherlock closes his eyes and leans back in his chair.

"That's the beauty of it John. Technically he's not within the law, but no one says anything because what would be the point. What would be the point of getting him a few month of imprisonment when as soon as he got out he'd release the information that you got him imprisoned for having. That would be your downfall, not his. There is not point John. He's got a system."

"Then why is he coming here?"

"We have a client. A one Eva Blackwell who asked for my help."

"You never told me."

"You were sleeping. I didn't see the point."

"What are the terms?"

"She's due to be married. Milverton shot a few emails to a few people who would have the marriage broken off, asking a large sum of money from the marrying couple. If they don't pay you can ensure that the marriage will be foiled."

"Well then this doesn't really concern you does it?"

"Not usually no. But I've been commissioned to meet with old _Charlie _boy and agree on terms that are more reasonable. I've been expecting this email for a long time. There. That's him on the stairs. Quick John, pretend to talk with me."

"I am talking with you."

"Pretend to be a client!" He leans toward John, a look of interest masking his face. John smiles a sly smile before beginning.

"You see, Mr. Holmes, I need your help. My brother got in with some bad people, I need your help to get him out." Sherlock leans back,

"I don't see how I can help you John."

"Please." John pleads. Sherlock glances over his shoulder at the large man blocking their door.

"I'm sorry John. This will have to wait. I have more important matters."

"But-"

"No. Just sit there. What do you want Charlie?" The large dark haired man enters the room slowly, much like a whale.

"You know why I'm here Sherlock."

"To discuss Miss Eva's terms." The man gestures to John.

"Should we talk somewhere more private?"

"It's fine."

"Are you-"

"Just sit down." He takes a seat, glancing at John every few minutes. He straightens his suit before facing Sherlock.

"You understand the terms."

"Right now? Yes. Seven thousand pounds. And the alternative?"

"There isn't one. If the money isn't paid on the fourteenth, there will be no wedding on the eighteenth." Sherlock glares at the man sitting in front of him.

"That's it then? You clearly haven't thought this through. We won't pay the money and on the day of the wedding we'll tell the husband the story and pray for his mercy."

"You clearly don't know the groom."

"Should it matter? The problem can't be that horrible."

"The lady was a very…. Flirtatious young woman. The Earl won't be merciful. I'll just get these emails and show them to the Earl and…." Sherlock sits up, anger flaring in his eyes.

"Hold on a moment. We don't want to be too hasty." Milverton sits back in his chair.

"I was sure you'd see it like that."

"Eva isn't a very wealthy woman. Two thousand pounds would drain her. Seven thousand… Well that's just impossible. I'm sure we can agree on a price that I'll set." Milverton laughs coldly.

"I'm aware of the ladies money situation. All the same, a wedding is a good time for friends to give money. I'm sure these emails would make her much happier than any present her friends could supply."

"It's impossible Charlie."

"Well, well, well. It just seems horrible that just a push of a button, and the whole wedding can be called off. A little section in the news announcing that the wedding is off and for what? A few letters that seven thousand pounds could have cleared up. Isn't it just pitiful?"

"Stop playing games. You know she can't give that much."

"You know I can't work on your terms." He stands up to leave and John makes for the door to stop him.

"Give it up John, we can't hold him here."

"Very good Mr. Holmes. I expected more, I can say that you rather disappointed me. At least now I can say we've met face to face. It's been a pleasure working with you. At last a correspondence between us that does not end in one of us threatening the other." He pulls the door open and leaves in a rush. John frowns at Sherlock, sitting in front of the fireplace, deep in thought.

"What did he mean Sherlock? Has he threatened you before?"

"Yes. I'll figure something out. Go to bed John. You need the rest."


	26. Witness Part 2

"Do you consider me to be a marrying man?" John doesn't even look up from his blog post,

"Absolutely not." Sherlock closes the door and takes a seat in the recliner.

"Then you'll be surprised to hear that I'm engaged." John stops typing midsentence, nearly dropping his laptop to the floor.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm engaged to Milverton's house maid." John closes his laptop and looks at Sherlock, receiving a shock. Sherlock isn't dressed in his normal suit coat and pants, he's wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair is styled, and he's wearing trainers.

"What on EARTH are you wearing?" Sherlock shoots John a bored look before prying the laptop from his fingers,

"A disguise."

"What?"

"In order to woo his house maid I needed to disguise myself so that he wouldn't recognize me."

"You really are engaged aren't you."

"Yes. Obviously."

"Congra-"

"I needed information." John's face falls, and he smacks Sherlock across the back of his head.

"That is cruelty. Sherlock."

"Thanks to her, I know the entire layout of Milverton's house." John closes his eyes wearily.

"What do you expect to do?"

"Will you break in with me tonight?"

"WHAT?"

"I'm going to wipe his computer. I need your help though." John shakes his head, a smile forming on his lips. "Please John?" That stops him. Sherlock never says please.

"You never say please."

"I do when the time calls. Will you help me?"

"Danger of being caught?"

"Very high."

"I'm game. When do we leave?"

"Give it thirty minutes and then we can leave."

"Eight?"

"Yes."

"I haven't even eaten yet."

"Well then go eat. I took Ms. Hamilton on a date, so I'm not hungry. Have you got anything dark? Quiet shoes? A mask perhaps? And you might want to bring your gun." John just gapes at him, chin wagging. "Well don't just stand there John! You've got less than an hour to get ready!"

_Forty minutes later_

Sherlock closes the flat door, locking it as he goes. "Come along John. We've got some house breaking to do." John rolls his eyes, but follows his friend out the door into the streets.

"I hope you know what you're doing." Sherlock smiles, more of a smirk really, but a smile.

"I've got the entire house plan worked out in my head. It shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes to get in and out. Milverton isn't supposed to be in tonight, so we should be clear."

"How are we going to get it?"

"I'm very skilled at picking locks John. You should know that." John nods, remembering locking Sherlock out of the flat once, in an attempt to prevent him from stealing his laptop. Again. "We should be arriving soon. The cab stops outside of a large, Victorian style house, and the two men get out, silently padding up the yard. Sherlock digs in his pockets as they reach a side door, feeling for his lock picking kit. He pulls out the pieces and fiddles with the lock. Almost noiselessly it opens, and the two men, dressed in black enter the house. They slip in and out of doors, the whole house appears to be deserted. Sherlock bends down when the reach Milverton's study door and messes about with the lock. The door eases open and the two men slip inside. Sherlock closes the door behind him and immediately makes for the laptop.

"Are you sure this will work Sherlock?" John asks as Sherlock pulls out a flash drive.

"It's a virus that will fry his computer. I made it myself, I'm sure it will work. He types a few things in, trying to hack in when he stiffens suddenly and turns his ear toward the door. "John!" He hisses before grabbing John's hand and dragging him behind the curtains to the large windows that frame the room. A door suddenly opens and it becomes clear that Sherlock had heard something John hadn't. John opens his mouth to protest when the light suddenly comes on. Sherlock's face is shadowed by the curtain, but eerily lit by the light that filtered through. Still gripping John's hand he brings his free finger to his lips, a move that tells John to shut up. He peeks through the curtain as Milverton takes a seat behind his computer. He checks his watch, swearing loudly. Sherlock's eyes are bright as he watches the infamous blackmailer pace about his room. Clearly he is waiting for someone. John's legs start to hurt when the door suddenly opens and a woman enters the room. Milverton grins and takes a seat.

"It is I, the woman whose life you ruined." Milverton chuckles.

"Don't think you're the only one my dear. I put the price range well in your range." Sherlock parts the curtain slightly to get a look at the new arrival. The woman is beautiful, long, thick, black hair, cool blue eyes and a look of determination.

"And you sent those bloody emails to my husband, the noblest man I have ever met, and it broke his heat. He died." She pauses as Milverton stands. "Do you remember that last night, when I came into this very room and begged for mercy? And you just stood there and laughed and laughed. Finally, after a year of woe and pain, I came back. You never thought you would see me here again did you? What do you have to say for yourself Charles Milverton?"

"Don't think you can bully me young woman. My people are still about," Sherlock raises an eyebrow. Ms. Hamilton told him the house would be empty. "all I have to do is shout. I'm giving you a chance, leave the way you came, or spend the rest of your life in jail." She smiles wickedly before reaching behind her, pulling from her waistband a small gun.

"You have hurt so many people, and you'll hurt more. I won't have it." She trains the gun on Milverton's chest, his eyes widen and he takes a step back. Sherlock pushes John closer to the wall to escape Charles's back pedaling. "This ends tonight. Take that! AND THAT! AND THAT!" Three shots crack the air and Charles Augustus Milverton falls to the floor. She smiles, grinds her heel once into his face, and then leaves. Sherlock sits behind the curtain, paralyzed a moment before sweeping the curtain back. Careful to avoid the dead body, he sits in the late Charles Milverton's chair, working furiously to destroy his laptop.

"He's bound to have people do his dirty work should anything happen to him." He plugs in his flash drive, downloads the program and then takes it out. Shutting the laptop he turns to John. "We should probably run now. He mentioned having people in the house. Those shots couldn't go unnoticed." He takes off down the hall from where they entered the room, John following closely behind. He pulls his gun out as he runs, knowing that it's just too easy and someone was probably going to stop them. Two figures rush down the hall toward Sherlock and John.

"Shit. This way John, we can scale the garden wall!" They break off the main hall and race down several smaller, narrower, corridors. Sherlock rams his shoulder into the door, not even bothering to take the time and pick the lock. The rush of cool night air causes the two to pause. Several more people were chasing them now and John had to help Sherlock up the wall. "Thank you John. Quickly now. And if we're lucky, this might even make the morning news!" With his eyes alight he races down the Milverton property to the waiting taxi, pulling his mask off as he goes. John throws his at Sherlock, hitting him square in the back. Laughing, Sherlock picks it up and holds the taxi door for John. The two slide in.

"221B Baker Street. If you don't mind." John requests, slightly out of breath.

_The very next morning_

"Feeling safe John?"

"Oh yes. What a night that was." John laughs as he takes a seat at the table. He clears a small space for his eggs and begins to eat. The door bell rings and Sherlock groans.

"Ten quid it's Lestrade." John doesn't even look up.

"Done." Sherlock pulls the door open.

"What?"

"Are you busy?" Lestrade asks as he strides into the room.

"Well I wasn't, but now I am. What?"

"There was a curious murder at the Milverton's place. Know anything about it?" Sherlock winks at John behind Lestrade's back.

"Why would I?"

"Did you read the paper yet?"

"No. I haven't had the chance."

"Will you help us?"

"Why, what's so odd. Details man. Details."

"The criminals broke in last night and murdered the poor bloke. They raided his computer and then left, but not before a couple of people saw them and gave discriptions."

"Two? Plural?"

"Yes. Do you want the descriptions now Sherlock?"

"I'm sorry Lestrade. I can't. Mycroft wants me to do something for him." Lestrade rolls his eyes.

"Lying arse."

"Bite me. You are welcome to leave now." Lestrade closes the door behind him and Sherlock starts grinning. "Oh that was fun wasn't it John?" John says nothing, but is smiling into his morning cuppa all the same.

* * *

_Author's Note: HEY EVERYBODY! It's been a while for me, actually, it hasn't, but it feels like it has. Exciting news, I've started another, totally original story over on fictionpress. You should go check it out. Time Lord Victorious over there too, but it's called 'Beyond the Earth' and it's great so far. I'd love your feedback. _

_I've been busy with school and stuff lately so I haven't been updating like I should be, but that will soon change once spring break comes around in about a week. So, be ready for that. I have a great finale for this set of forty and it should be great. Don't forget to review, have a great week, and hope to see you soon! _

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

Time Lord Victorious


	27. Cake

_Sherlock Age: 21_

"MYCROFT! WHERE ARE YOU?" I scream into my phone, I've been sitting at the airport for three hours and he still hasn't shown up to come and get me. Being in Germany for a few months tends to make one angry, and anxious to get home.

"What are you talking about Sherlock?"

"I just got back from Munich! You were supposed to come get me!"

"I thought that was tomorrow….."

"DEAR GOD MYCROFT! WHERE DOES YOUR BRAIN GO?"

"I'll be there soon. Relax. I'll make it up to you."

"YOU BETTER!"

"I _will_! Don't worry." I can hear him sighing loudly on the other side of the phone.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?"

"None of your business. I'll call you when I come up to the drive by." The phone clicks off. I don't want to be standing here for another fifteen minutes. Angrily I shove my phone in my pocket. I'm sick of being away from home. Why Mycroft felt the need to send me out there is a mystery to me. Usually, nothing is so complicated, and curious as this. He called me up and told me he had booked me a ticket on an aeroplane to Germany. I don't know how long he had planned for me to stay there, but obviously he wasn't happy when I came home "early". Sometimes I hate him. Scratch that. I hate him all the time. I start to pace, luggage in hand. I can't believe this. My stomach rumbles, and I roll my eyes. Mycroft…. So unreliable. My phone starts to ring.

"FINALLY!"

"It's only been fifteen minutes Sherlock."

"No, Mycroft! It's been THREE BLOODY HOURS!" There is a stunned silence on the other end.

"Why did you wait three hours to call me?"

"BECAUSE I WAS BUSY!"

"BUSY HOW?"

"Taking a nap on the chairs, jet lag is a bastard." He sighs.

"Sometimes I really hate you."

"I always hate you, so we're square." I hang up as I see his car, racing toward it before it stops. I wrench open the door and fling myself inside, pulling it shut behind me. I don't even bother to strap in. "Just go Mycroft. Get me out of here."

"What are you in the mood for?"

"What?"

"You're hungry. What do you want?" I ponder this question. He's trying to be nice. I can call that from a mile away. He's trying to make up for leaving me there for three hours.

"Cake."

"What?"

"You asked what I wanted. I said cake."

"Why cake?"

"They don't have cake in Germany. I missed it." He rolls his eyes. My longing for cake suddenly grows stronger and I smack him, "Get me cake Mycroft."

"Fine!"

_A few minutes later_

The first bite was a small piece of heaven. Usually I don't care too much about food, or sweets, or anything for that matter, but this is different. Cake is manna from heaven.

"Thanks." I mumble around my piece of cake. He just nods, looking out the window.

_Present day_

"There'll be cake Sherlock." I freeze. Cake?

"Cake?"

"Yes. Chocolate cake, and I think a lemon cake too."

"CAKE?"

"Cake."

"I'll do it." John stares at me.

"Thank you Sherlock."

"Where there's cake, there's Sherlock." I hang up and grab my coat.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Me?"

"YOU SHERLOCK. What's wrong?"

"I like cake."

"Hm?"

"I _love_ cake.

"Okay. There has _got_ to be a story behind that." I smile at John,

"Oh there is." I leave the door open, running down the stairs to catch a cab. John's curiosity gets the best of him and he starts to follow me.

"Tell me the story?"

"On the way."

* * *

_Author's Note: For the record, and I want to say this before I get caught, I was having issues with remembering weather it was cake or pie that they do not have in Germany. They have cake. They don't have pie. So there you are. Don't hound me, I didn't know how to get him addicted to cake, not pie. _

_Cake is in Germany. Ich liebe eine Stü ck Kuchen. _

_They do not have pie._

_That is all._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

Time Lord Victorious


	28. Hospitals

"SHERLOCK! COME BACK!" John shouts down the street. Sherlock continues to run, ignoring the pleas from his friend. "SHERLOCK!" He dashes across the street without looking.

_John_

"SHERLOCK!" He races across the street, and reaches the other side, turning back and grinning at me. He quickly pats himself down, looks toward the middle of the street and goes racing back to pick up his notebook. "SHERLOCK!" He doesn't even look up, but bends down to get the book. He glances toward me before straightening up. The headlights of an oncoming car light up the left side of his body. He turns to the source of the light, squinting. Oh God! "SHERLOCK!" I start to run into the street, trying to push Sherlock out of the way. He's not moving. Oh God.

_Sherlock_

I stare into the lights of the car, and my body involuntarily freezes. My mind is free, but my body refuses to move. The car inches along the street, probably moving at twenty five miles an hour or so, but I've slowed it down. The driver is talking on his mobile, typical.

"SHERLOCK!" John's calling my name. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him racing down the road toward me. I blink and suddenly the car is a few feet from me, quickly closing the gap. The driver hasn't looked up yet. Finally I can feel my legs moving and I start to move out of the way. Not fast enough. The front end of the car rams into my body.

_John_

Sherlock crumples onto the hood of the car. Oh God.

"SHERLOCK!" The driver of the car looks up, screams and slams on the breaks. Teenage girl. Figures. She tumbles out of her car as I reach Sherlock's side. He's unconscious. Marvelous.

_Sherlock_

The car hits me and I hit the hood. Hard. I can hear the girl screaming and the car comes to a halt. The world starts to fade and suddenly, nothing is visible. My mind draws a blank and I slip into unconsciousness.

_John_

My eyelids start to droop as I sit next to Sherlock's bed in the hospital. He seems a lot more vulnerable in the hospital clothes they changed him into. At least he's sleeping now. The damage wasn't too bad, but it was still bad enough to break him, and cause internal bleeding. Luckily, I'm a doctor. I don't understand how Sherlock survived without a doctor before. I know my stuff, but he still needed a hospital, so I had called in. Now he's sleeping, he woke up as we pulled up to the hospital, he wasn't too happy about that. Kept telling me that he would be better back at the flat. As if. He couldn't even walk without hurting himself. Sometimes I don't understand him. The humming machines lead me into a sense of security, Sherlock's going to be fine, you don't need to worry John. I close my eyes, placing my hand under my chin, and slowly nodding off to sleep.

_Sherlock_

My eyes snap open. Anesthetic, sterilized cleanliness, beeping machines, white walls, scratchy clothes, ugly clothes, hard bed, only one place. Hospital. I try to sit up, but my chest hurts and with a pathetic grunt I fall back into the pillows. Ouch. Assess the damage? Bruised and or broken ribs, I can't tell apart from that. What happened? The memories come trickling back, sluggish at first, but slowly they all arrive in an order that makes sense.

Chasing a bad guy, running across the street, dropping my notebook, running back in the street to get it, John shouting, and a…. car? I got hit by a damned car! What kind of idiot….? Teenage girl. Right. I remember. She was talking on her mobile…. Isn't that illegal? Course it is! Dear God! I get sent to the hospital by some idiotic, little girl? A dirty little law breaking teenager? I sigh, but immediately regret it. I start to rub my ribs, the IV tugging at my arm. I snarl, I hate IV's. There's a shift on my left and I turn my head to look. John.

What the Hell? Why is John here? He had a date with Sarah didn't he? A smug sort of feeling settles on my shoulders, he obviously didn't get to meet that appointment. He moves in his chair to get more comfortable, in a way it's kind of…. Nice of him to wait for me. To Hell with nice. Nobody care about that kind of thing anymore.

_John_

"JOHN! WAKE UP!" My hand falls out from under my chin and the feeling of vertigo wakes me.

"W-t?"

"John! You awake?"

"Now. What Sherlock." Sherlock's awake, good.

"Take me home!"

"I can't. Sorry Sherlock, you're supposed to stay here for a while."

"How long is that?"

"Until tomorrow afternoon." Sherlock groans and rubs his chest.

"My pig lung is going to go bad by then." Wait…. What?

"…. You mean-"

"It's under the couch." I can feel my jaw drop,

"That's what I was smelling!"

"It's already smelling? Hm… It's gone bad already. But seriously John. You have to get me out. Hospitals give me the wiggins."

"You just said wiggins." He shudders,

"The only way to explain it. They make my skin crawl."

"You used the word wiggins."

"Yeah. So?" I've never heard him say anything like that before.

"The great Sherlock Holmes can't come up with a better word than 'wiggins' to describe something? I'm in shock here Sherlock."

"No you aren't. Get me home."

"No. I can't. It's against the rules."

"Help me escape?" That causes me to pause.

"What do I have to do?" Sherlock grins. I'm so going to regret this.


	29. Proof

_John_

_I grip father's hand. "You okay?" He smiles thinly,_

"_Sure." I hang my head. He's dying and there's nothing I can do about it. It makes me sad that I can't help him._

"_Father." I say sternly, and he actually chuckles._

"_What son?"_

"_Be honest." He pretends to think about it, think about how he's feeling. He wants me to be happy, like his death shouldn't make me sad. _

"_My time has come John, there's nothing you can do about this. There is no reason for you to be so sad. I'll see you again, plus, I'm not going to die today. I can feel it." I nod and force a smile. He wants me to be happy, it's the least I can do for him. "It's good to see you smile John. It's a good thing." He closes his lids and leans back in the hospital bed. He's been there for the past week. He refused kemo and now he's slowly withering away at a damn hospital. What is the world like now? A place that takes the best people and allows them to die? Harry started drinking the week dad went in, she hasn't stopped, I don't think she will stop. Maybe his death will bring something new into my life. A sense of orphanage, or hate, or cursings of Gods? Or maybe it'll be an opening. One never tends to think about one's parents dying until it happens. We shut what we don't imagine possible, we shove it away, we dare not think of it. _

"_Dad?"_

"_You haven't used that word in a long time."_

"_I know, I just want you to know…. Um…" _

"_Go on." He lies there, still. The only reason I know he's still alive is because I see his chest rise and fall as he breathes in. _

"_Dad, I just want you to know, I don't blame you for mum leaving, I don't blame you for Harry's drinking problem, and…." He doesn't say anything. I close my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts. "And…." I open my eyes as his hand goes limp in mine. Fear engulfs my heart. He's stopped breathing. "OH GOD! Father! FATHER?" No response. He's honestly gone! "Oh GOD! Why? Why would you do this to me! What have I ever done to deserve this!" I shout at the heavens. They stole my father, and I'm not sure I deserved it. "I was talking! I was about to tell him that…." His body lets out a sigh. I've heard about this, the body still has energy that it has to release._

"_I love you John." He says in that whisper._

"_I love you too dad." Tears stream down my cheeks. My worst nightmare, coming true. How could this happen to me? The only thing I can think about is that he's dead now, he's not going to help me with anything. I pull out my phone as I sniff the snot back up into my nose. I have to call Harry. She needs to know. _

"_John? News?" She's drunk. Again._

"_Gone."_

"_What?"_

"_Gone. Dad's gone."_

"_Gone? How can he be-? Oh." I find it amazing that I can even speak, my throat is so constricted. "John…. When did he pass?" _

"_Just now. Thought you should know." I hang up, throwing my phone across the room. The nurse comes in, noticing that I'm crying. She touches my shoulder,_

"_I'm sorry. These things just happen. We're going to have to take the body away now." She says it so quietly it takes a minute for the words to sink in. She gingerly presses the call button on the machine next to the bed, the one my father had me disable yesterday. He said it made him feel like it was counting his life. _

"_Wait? What?"_

"_We're going to have to take his body away. The doctor should be here shortly. I don't know why he wasn't already."_

"_My father doesn't-didn't like the machine." I'm appalled that I changed tense in the middle of the sentence. How could he not be in the present tense anymore? The doctor appears at the doorway, while the nurse gives me a small hug, _

"_I'm sorry for you loss." I nod before looking up at the doctor. _

"_I want to be like you."_

"_What? A doctor?"_

"_Yes. I want to be a doctor." The man smiles before checking my pupils. He thinks I'm in shock. _

"_Good for you son. Good for you." I nod quietly before sniffling. "Do you need a ride home?"_

"_My sister is coming to get me. Her name is Harry." The doctor smiles as he makes motions toward the body and the nurse. "That's short for Harriet."_

"_Can we get this body out of here nurse?" The doctor asks. The nurse nods and helps the doctor with the gurney. They had him on a gurney. It's like they knew he would die. They knew, of course they knew. I get a call and stand up to retrieve my phone. It's Harriet._

"_Harry?"_

"_Yeah. I'm here. Thought you might need a lift."_

"_Thanks. I'll be right out." I shove my phone in my pocket before announcing to the empty room, "My sister is here. I'm going to leave now." The walk to the front door and Harry's convertible is a blur, I don't pay much attention to anything. Nurses and doctors alike made way for me in the halls, whispering about how I had just lost my father. "Thank you Harry." She nods. "You sure you're going to be able to drive?" She doesn't say anything but starts the car and we start down the street to the empty home._

"_We're going to have to make funeral arrangements and buy a gravestone, and go to the reading of the will and-" She cuts herself off with a sob, "He's really dead isn't he? Oh God John. What am I going to do?" I blink tiredly from the passenger seat,_

"_Watch out for that post Harry."_

"_What?" Too late. We run the car straight into the post, the car flips up over the post and lands on top of us. There is a brief pain, and I remember no more._

I wake with a start, nearly hitting my head on the bed post. Blasted dream again. I wipe my wet cheeks, always makes me cry that one. The ones with Afghanistan only make me scream, these ones actually make me cry. I remember being in the hospital after that. There wasn't as much damage as I had thought there would be when the flip occurred. I had been wearing a seatbelt, the doctors said that's what kept me alive. I shift under the covers and discover an unusual weight. Pulling the blanket up so I can look under, I peer toward the end of the bed, where a man sized lump resides.

"Sherlock?" He mumbles and rolls to face me.

"Obviously."

"What- Let me rephrase that. Why are you in my bed?"

"I had a bad dream. And you did too. I didn't want to be in the dark anymore, at least not by myself." I sit there quietly staring at him. He honestly does have a heart. "I heard you crying, you were yelling father. Problem?"

"Sherlock, if you want to sleep in here, all you have to do is ask. There's more than enough room."


	30. Dear Jim

_Jim Age: 13_

He clicks open the emails,

_M,_

_I have a little problem that I would love you to sort out for me. _

_Thanks._

Jim chuckles quietly. All the little mundane people and their little problems.

_What is the problem?_

_M_

He hits the send button and leans back in his chair, waiting. The reply comes almost instantly.

_M,_

_Carl Powers._

Carl Powers? He's heard that name before. That's the boy that made fun of him in class the other day. Mrs. Green told Carl Powers to shut up and leave him alone. Not everyone is like little Carl.

_Done. It'll cost you though._

_M_

_M,_

_I'm willing to pay._

Jim grins widely, the smile makes him look like a snake, a dangerous snake.

_Good. Get me all the information on Carl Powers that you can. It will be imperative_

_M_

He closes the computer and glances out the window. He'll take care of Carl Powers. Jim already considered removing him from his classes. Permanently. Carl Powers will be easy, and his first. Carl Powers has always been a bully, James Moriarty feels it's time to bring him down a notch, that notch being, his life. He still has the bruises from his most recent encounter behind the school, from last week. And now, he feels it's time that little Carl Powers, champion swimmer, should no longer receive special treatment.

Vengeance. He's looking for vengeance.

_Author's Note: This wasn't originally my idea. Vengeance Author talked about doing something similar to this, a Young Moriarty kind of thing, Moriarty growing up or somit. I decided that SINCE he's not doing anything right now, I'd steal the privilege. Hah hah hah. Win. I'm thinking that the next one will be just as short, but it won't be about Jim, it'll be about a certain Miss Molly Hooper._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious _


	31. Player

_Molly Hooper_

The day she first met Sherlock Holmes was the day that she realized how easily she can be manipulated. He had waltzed in, flashed her a smile that melted her heart and asked to see a body. She doesn't think that she'll ever forget that day, as long as she lives. No matter how hard she'll try. They'd traded numbers so that he could get her schedule and so that he could get into contact with her when he need to. Most of the time it was about dead bodies, or body parts. Never anything that Molly would be happy to answer the phone for. She had hoped that Jim would make a difference. She was hoping that it would make him jealous, all it did was make her wary. Jim insisted that he wasn't gay, but she wasn't so sure. After about a week he just didn't show up anymore, and she tried to ring him. It was about the same time that Sherlock and John had reappeared that Jim came back to work. He wasn't the same man she used to know either, he was a stranger.

There's a polite knock on the door and Molly looks up, brushing her tears away.

"Who is it?"

"It's me." His Irish accent causes her to look up.

"Hey Jim. Sorry. I'm busy." She whacks the body in front of her with her fist, it was a way of telling him to get out as well as allowing her to release some pent up anger. "I need to remove the eyes in this dead man for Sherlock. He asked for them last week and I haven't been able to find a suitable pair of eyes until now. So if you could-" She stops talking as Jim suddenly appears in front of her.

"Sh. Molly. It's okay. I understand. I just want to say, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Being on edge. Some things came up at home and I had to deal with them. My mother died and well…."

"Oh Jim. I'm sorry." He walks carefully around the metal table and puts his arms around Molly in a reassuring way. She hugs him hard, trying to let him know how sorry she is.

"It's okay Molly. Everything is fine now Molls." She looks into his face, smiling.

"You called me Molls. You haven't done that in a long time."

"Jim is back!" He says with a laugh. "Miss me?"

"More than you know. Thank you."

"Better than Sherlock Holmes any day. Am I right?" Molly smiles,

"You actually like me so… Yes." Jim smiles. It makes Molly feel good that he's not smiling at her so that he can get her to look at a body for him, or that he's not pretending to flirt with her so that he can see an eye sample. Jim makes her feel safe, better than anything Sherlock Holmes could do. Jim leans down and kisses her.

"I'll see you after work love. We've got a date. Don't forget."

"I won't!" She calls after him as he leaves her to her eye samples, and then, she smiles.


	32. Speech Tells All

"It's my turn Sherlock! Hand it over!"

"What? Since when! I just got it!"

"Did not! You've had it for an hour!"

"HAVE NOT! Quit talking shit John!"

"Quit swearing at me! Hand it over!"

"NO!"

"YES!"

"OI! STOP IT! GET OFF!"

"SHERLOCK!"

-thud-

"GET THE HELL OFF!"

"Shove it!"

"BITE ME!"

"FINE!"

"OUCH! WHAT THE HELL JOHN!"

"YOU TOLD ME TO BITE YOU! HAND IT OVER!"

"NO!"

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into! I'm ex-army!"

"Oh yeah? Well I'm just… You don't want to get in it with me!"

"I can kick your scrawny little arse! HEY! Get back here! It's my turn!"

"Bugger off!"

"Did you lock me out!"

"Obviously. Go away!"

"Not your turn Sherlock! You've used your time!"

"No I bloody well haven't. Piss off!"

"I can't!"

"And why not?"

"It's mine! Let me in!"

"NO! Bugger off!"

"Cut it out!"

"CUT WHAT OUT!"

"Just give me the damn thing!"

"NO!"

"Then I have no choice. You did this Sherlock. YOU."

"Oh. Like I'm so scared."

"You should be. You should be."

-shattering glass-

"WHAT THE HELL? JOHN! Is that your arm!"

"YES! LET ME IN!"

"NO!"

"I'm bleeding Sherlock!"

"Bleeding?"

"YES! LET ME IN!"

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Let me in!... THANK YOU!"

"Hey… Wait a minute…."

"Nah ah ah. Get me the first aid kit."

"Why?"

"I bloodied my arm! That's why! Do you want me to die!"

"NO!"

"Then hurry up!"

"I'm going, I'm going, but don't touch it."

"Don't worry."

"And don't look at me like that, it makes me think you're up to something."

"Nothing but bleeding on the floor."

"You did punch your arm through the window."

"Yes I did. You locked me out."

"Yes I did."

"Get that kit. Thank you."

"HEY! WHERE DID YOU PUT IT?"

"PUT WHAT?"

"It was my turn! God I hate you John!"

"I should never have gotten you hooked. It was my fault, I take full responsibility."

"I don't blame you. I just hate you."

"I know. Hold this."

"Why should I?"

"The police would think you murdered me."

"Not unlikely."

"Just hold the damn bandage."

"Now look. You're swearing."

"I'm more mature, I'm allowed."

"As if. You aren't mature at all."

"Says the child who locked me out."

"You started it."

"Did not. Pass me the tape. Thank you."

"Why do you always say that?"

"Say what?"

"Thank you."

"I'm thanking you for your help."

"Why though?"

"You're my friend…."

"Why?"

"Where is this going?"

"I don't know."

"Why does Mycroft always carry that umbrella around. Now that we're asking questions."

"It's his favorite thing."

"Well I figured that."

"It was the last thing that our grandfather gave him."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. He and grandfather were close."

"Did he give you anything?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"That coat."

"The one that hangs behind the door?"

"Yes."

"It's a nice coat."

"He was a nice man. Here, let me help you up."

"You're cleaning up the glass."

"Am not."

"Are too. Unless you can find it."

"I bet you I can."

"Five quid."

"You're on."

* * *

_Author's Note: Before you ask, no, I have no idea what IT is. I was thinking the remote, or maybe an iPhone app, but considering it's simply speech and a few mandatory sounds, well, I can't quite tell you can I? Anyway, all speech, have fun with THAT, annnnnnd, the finally is going to be a four part one, which mainly ties up lose ends, but should be a blast. Not going to give anymore away, because VengeanceAuthor would kill me, and because I'm going to have too much fun with it to talk about it. Will take suggestions for the next couple of fics leading up the grand finale. Good luck. Have a good week, and wish me luck on the random testing that I have to do this week. _

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

Time Lord Victorious


	33. What Have You Done?

John came home to the sound of a pissed off violin. It's not the first time, but it's still disturbing to come home to that noise, knowing that Sherlock is in a bad mood and that he's probably destroyed the flat in frustration. This thought in mind, he cautiously opens the door and sticks his head through the crack, gazing into the room. From where he stands it appears unharmed, but knowing Sherlock, that doesn't mean anything.

"Sherlock?" He calls. The violin stops and a large glass comes flying from the direction of the kitchen. Were it not for John's prior military training and months of living with Sherlock, the glass would have hit him in the head. Instead he pulls the door closed as it shatters against the door. "WHAT THE HELL?"

"John?" John figures that Sherlock won't waist another glass on him and enters the room.

"Why did you do that?"

"You startled me." Sherlock anxiously rubs his hair and picks up his violin again, playing a quick, distraught tune. John looks around the kitchen, jaw dropping.

"What the Hell have you done?"

"What?"

"You've written all over the bloody walls. 'Red is a symbol of death but could also mean something about blood'. Half of this doesn't even make sense."

"Oh. That."

"YES THAT! Are you going to explain?"

"I ran out of room on the board."

"What?"

"Tough case. Problem?"

"You've written all over the kitchen walls, is that a doodle?" John gestures to a vaguely human shaped scribble.

"What? NO! John, I don't doodle, especially not when I work a case. Are you going to help me?"

"Help you?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to clean this mess up?"

"The wall colourings?"

"Yes."

"It's in Sharpie. It's not going to come off." John looks like he wants to smack Sherlock across the face.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"Drawn on the walls."

"Yes, all over the kitchen walls. And it's not going to come off."

"Very observant of you John." Sherlock throws the violin down. "Are you going to help me or not?"

"Why should I? You've destroyed my kitchen! And now you want me to help you with the case?"

"Yes. I won't tell you what happened to the bathroom if you help me."

"WHAT?"

"Yes. I'll keep it under the wraps until I can clean it up, which is only _after _I finish this case. Come with me?" John sighs exasperatedly.

"How do you always manage to do this?"

"What?"

"Convince me to help you."

"Does that mean that you're going to help?"

"Obviously you git."

* * *

_Author's Note: Just thought you should be aware, VengeanceAuthor cannot kill me. 'I have no cyanide' is what he said to me this morning. I did this number -.- That's reassuring I'm sure. _


	34. An Abomination

"_Don't make people into hero's Amy, hero's don't exist and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them. Now get out of here while you can. Tell Rory that I'm sorry, and stay safe." The Doctor shouts at Amy, grabbing her shoulders._ Sherlock sits straight up in his chair.

"Something odd. I feel like I've said that before…."

"What?"

"Something about not making people into hero's…."

"Shut up and pay attention." John sits back in the chair, wrapping his arms around his legs.

"You actually sit around and watch this? It's rubbish!"

"SHUT UP SHERLOCK!" John rolls slightly, hitting Sherlock with his shoulder before sitting up again. Sherlock sighs and shrinks back into the couch curtains.

"I still say it's rubbish."

_The Doctor whips out his sonic screwdriver, running it over the flashing computer screen._

"_WHY ISN'T THIS WORKING?" He shouts angrily, resisting the urge to throw his screwdriver across the room. He anxiously runs his hands through his hair, trying to find a solution. "OH!" He smacks his forehead and whips out an odd looking contraption. "THERE YOU ARE! Where have you been?" He smashes it against the computer and sparks fly. A force field is lifted and he grins, straightening his bowtie. "Now to sort out the Yumits." He sets his face, a grim sort of determined look and sets off toward a gigantic building in the center of the city._

"This is pure rubbish John! How can you watch this?"

"WOULD YOU JUST SHUT UP?"

"_So where does that leave us? Amy is safe, and the city is saved, you have no purpose here. So you have a choice now. Either you leave…. Or I make you." The leader of the Yumits laughs, spewing spit all over the floor and the Doctor's face. He doesn't flinch._

"_You expect me to leave in peace, even though you foiled my plans? Did you not think that I was expecting you? There is always a second plan Doctor. You've been around for so long, have you not learned this one lesson? People aren't hero's. There are no such things as hero's." _

"_Obviously you haven't been around quite as long as me. I always have a way. Do you really think that I would have come down here, unprotected, to ask you to leave in peace? If so, you have been sorely mistaken sir." The Doctor pulls out what looks like a water pistol._

"_You'd attack me with a water gun?" The Yumit leader laughs harder, doubling over. _

"_Not just any water pistol you Nancy! What do you think's inside here eh?"_

"_A simple combination of H2O." he wheezes in response, still laughing, green face constricting. The Doctor rolls his eyes._

"Oh good Lord, it's not water! What's this Yumit character made out of? Cellophane?"

"SHUT UP SHERLOCK!"

"You know what? No! I think that I know how this ends. The Doctor saves the day, very slimly mind, and then goes and puts a mourning Amy and Rory out of their misery, living to travel another day in the universe. Very redundant this show."

"Shut up."

"Who writes it?"

"Russel T. Davies gave it up and now Steven Moffat runs it. Why?"

"He's very clever."

"YOU JUST CRITIZIED HIM!"

"Not many shows like this can actually get me interested. The diversity amoung the aliens is fantastic, and the plot lines, although redundant, also have a creative sort of feel to them. I actually like this show John."

"Shu- Really?"

"Yes." Sherlock appears to be thinking on it. "Yes. Actually. I do. What did you say it's called again?"

"Doctor Who you ninny. There's a marathon on…"

"There's more?" Sherlock's eyes light up. "The show may be totally impossible, but you do grow on it."

"Yes there's more. I'll just put in some popcorn shall I?"

"PLEASE!" John smiles, he hadn't expected Sherlock to like Doctor Who, but it is a pleasant surprise that he can now watch it on the weekends with him. It's a nice thing to have a friend to watch your favorite shows with.

"I'll be right back." John stands up and heads for the kitchen.

"How long did you say the marathon was?"

"The BBC says it lasts all night, and we can watch it on BBC America too if we have to."

"Why would we do that? You know the cut the shows down."

"Shut up."

* * *

_Author's Note: I have created an abomination. O.o What have I done? And no, that was not from any Doctor Who episode that I am aware of, I totally made it up as I went along, and to tell you the truth, I could have done it all day and it would have been a DOCTOR WHO fanfiction rather than a SHERLOCK fanfiction. Shoot me, I kept the Doctor Who. If you are unaware, this is to celebrate Doctor Who coming back on this Saturday. Do you know how excited that makes me? With each passing day, I get more and more excited. Most likely, there's going to be a gigantic Sherlock fanfiction when Sherlock comes back on. Anyway, I had fun. Have a great day! :)_

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

Time Lord Victorious


	35. What's in Our Pockets?

_Sherlock Holmes's Pockets_

-Note book, small, bound, graph paper

-Pen, black, uni-ball

-Magnifying glass, small, compact, but useable

-Bit of string

-Paper clip

-Safety pin

-Duct tape

-Lock picking kit

-Small jar

-Bit of torn paper with notes on it

-Fluff

-Gloves

-Scarf

-Permanent marker

-Shoe string

-Copper wire

-Pocket knife

-20 pounds

-Key to the flat

-Mobile phone

_John Watson's Pockets_

-Schedule book

-Pencil

-Pen, blue, ball point

-Wallet with 100 pounds

-Key to the flat

-Take-out receipts

-Tissues

-Mobile phone

-Slip of paper with telephone number

-Invitation for Sherlock

-Water bill

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: To tell you the truth, I don't think any of this is in character enough for any of them. I'm pretty sure John doesn't walk about with his water bill in his pocket, but I'm too lazy to go fix it. This was actually an assignment in my creative writing class. We were supposed to clear out a character's pockets and make a list of everything in them. This is what I imagine Sherlock and John would have respectively. I did two other characters as well, not Sherlock related, and I did one for myself. I was appalled that I carried so much stuff. _

_A_

_N_

_Y_

_W_

_A_

_Y_

_Good night my faithful readers. Have a wonderful day, enjoy, everything is perfect even though my computer crashed… AGAIN, but it's all fixed now, for the most part. Much love._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious_

_P.S. Any Whovians out there? WASN'T THE PREMIER FANTASTIC? _


	36. The Case of the Dying Detective

_John_

The call came unexpectedly, in the middle of my work day. The phone rings and rings, and rings and rings. When it stops, my mobile starts to buzz, it must be important. I check the caller ID, immediately putting my phone down. Sherlock. The call ends. And it's several minutes before I'm called again. Sherlock. Again.

"WHAT?"

"Why do you sound so upset? I'm just calling you."

"I'm at work. Some people have to earn a living you know."

"Dull."

"What do you want Sherlock?" There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"John. I need your help. Are you with me?"

"What is it?"

"I need you to take a few days off. Three actually. Mycroft wants me to go out of country, and because of a case I am currently working on… Well I'm incapacitated. I would be eternally grateful if you would go in my place. Mycroft won't mind." My heart sinks.

"Where do you want me to go?"

"New York."

"CITY?"

"Yes. Will you go?"

"Why?"

"He needs you to pick up a package. Basically a loose end from a previous case, but I'm not up to it, I can't leave the country while I'm on the job. Will you do it?" I sigh. I can't help but think that there has got to be a bigger, underlying reason for him wanting me to leave. "John? John?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. Fine. I'll go." There was no delay following this remark,

"Excellent. You leave tomorrow morning."

_Three Days Later_

Jet lag is something that I have never really considered to be intolerable. Not until now. The cab drops me off outside of the familiar door of 221B Baker Street, and for a moment, I just stand there, taking in the London smog that I missed. I take a deep breath before forcing myself to open the door. It's late. Midnight at least. So it's a surprise to see Mrs. Hudson, wringing her hands near the door.

"Doctor Watson, I'm so glad you came back on time. Sherlock said you'd be back today. John, you've got to help him."

"What's wrong Mrs. Hudson?" I ask, preparing myself for the worst by placing my bag on the ground. She looks at me a moment before answering.

"It's Sherlock."

"What about Sherlock?"

"Well…. Well he's ill John."

"What?"

"He's sick. He hasn't let me in there since you've left, he's not eaten anything. At night, I hear him pacing…." I smile, relief flooding through my veins.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, you know that's normal when he's on the case-" She cuts me off with words that cause me to race up the stairs in a panic.

"Don't interrupt me young man. I burst into his room last night, going to put a stop to this nonsense when I found him. He was lying on the couch, not moving, looking completely pathetic. He bade me not to come near him, telling me that he was contagious. He said that he'd be fine in a couple days. John, he looked awful. Sunken cheeks, dilated pupils. He wouldn't even let me get past the door. He wouldn't let me get a doctor. He couldn't even get up-" She looked like she was about to say more, but I didn't hear the rest, pushing open the door of my flat. Sherlock sits up on the couch.

"John?" He croaks. His voice is like sandpaper against rock.

"Sherlock? What the Hell happened to you? I leave for three days and you manage to get yourself fatally ill! Do you know what you have?" He flops against the cushions, looking spent. His cheek bones are more prominent than ever, his lips are chapped and slightly faded, sweat dots his brow and his fingers shake slightly.

"Don't come any closer John, please. It's contagious, spreads by touch."

"What have you got?"

"An Eastern disease, one you've never heard of before. Remember when I went to China? I picked it up there. Don't even come closer." He screeches as I start to examine the room, leaving the sanctuary of the door. "I don't want you getting sick either. Not when I need you."

"What do you need me to do?" He screws his face up and coughs into his shoulder before answering,

"There is someone I need to see. He's the only one that can help me. Without him, I'm a dead man. All I've got is one more day, one more. Will you see him for me?"

"Anything Sherlock." I can't stand seeing him so sick and I not being able to do anything about it. Anything to make him better.

"See this man. Tell him Sherlock Holmes would like to see him. He's the only one that can help me now. Tell him that I have fallen fatally sick, I need his help. We've been on less than friendly terms since that accident a few years ago, slander and all. He's really a mean man-" He pulls himself together to continue his instructions, "It's the only way you can get him to come, tell him that I'm delusional and that I'm dying. It's the only way to get him out here. Do it John. He'll want to come back with you. Don't let him do that. Come back first, you meet me here first. Understand?"

"Why-"

"UNDERSTAND?"

"Give me the name Sherlock."

"What?"

"HIS NAME! NOW!"

"You can't leave yet! You have to wait four hours before going!"

"WHAT? NO! You're dying! I need to-"

"Are you content to wait?"

"NO!"

"John, I must ask you not to leave." He cries, springing from the couch as I make my way toward the door, blocking it with his thin body. He pulls the door shut and locks it, putting the key in his pocket. "You can leave in a few hours. Will you stay?" Insanity. What the Hell? I'm so confused. He collapses on the couch again, horribly out of breath. "Please stay."

"Fine. Fine! If you die, it's all your fault." He smiles thinly, closing his eyes. Slowly, he drifts off, dozing. I get up from my usual chair, looking about the room. It's utterly trashed. I was gone THREE DAYS and he managed to trash the place. On the mantle piece is a new bit of artwork. An ivory box takes it's place next to Yorik. What is it I wonder? I pick it up and turn it over in my hands, curiosity growing. I place it on the coffee table, sure that Sherlock is sleeping before going to open the lid. Back to Sherlock, I reach for the lid, I wonder what's inside… Suddenly a horrible scream rips the air, coming from behind me, it must have been heard down the street. My heart jumps and I leap back, nearly falling onto the couch. Sherlock makes shoving motions at my back.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT BOX!"

"What?"

"YOU BLOODY WELL HEARD ME! DON'T TOUCH THE BOX! LEAVE IT THERE!" His face is contorted in fear, "Don't touch the damn box. Leave it on the table. Sit down. Let me tell you the name of the man you must see for me. Don't touch the box." My heartbeat slows as I ease myself into the chair. "The man you need to see is a Mr. Culverton Smith, he lives at 13 Lower Burke Street. He's an expert. You need to see him for me. Are we clear? Turn the lights out on your way, and don't forget, leave and arrive before him." Sherlock is spent, lying unmoving on the couch. He's breathing hard as I turn out the lights before leaving.

Dear God. Sherlock's going to die if I don't get there. I take a cab, the ride doesn't go nearly as fast as I would like. All I can think about is the body of Sherlock lying on the couch. He looked truly horrible. He hasn't moved from that spot for three days until he blocked me at the door. Stubble sits on his jaw and he is so pale, he's almost opaque. I shudder just thinking about it, he's lying there, dying. He never said a word to me, he knew he was sick and he let me go to New York anyway. Good God. I should have seen, I'm a doctor after all. I should have noticed….. The cab stops outside of the building. I walk in to the reception room.

"Do you have an appointment?" Greets me at the front desk.

"I should hardly think I need one. Is Mr. Smith in?"

"He is not to be disturbed." I lean across the desk, lowering my voice as much as possible,

"He is going to be disturbed tonight." Without another word, I glare at the man behind the counter and push past him toward the door marked, SMITH. I don't even knock. It's my friend's life at stake, I'm not taking no for an answer. The door bursts open and the doctor turns to look at me, a face full of rage. He shouts over my shoulder,

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS? I SAID I WASN'T TO BE DISTURBED!" Plants in pots are strategically placed around the room, dirt and water smudge the floor and walls.

"I need your help Mr. Smith." The raving doctor stops at my words.

"Holmes send you?" In response, I nod. "How is he?"

"Bad. Will you come?"

"Why? I have no reason to go."

"He's dying."

"How bad off is he?" He queries. "Leave us." He adds to the receptionist. The man nods, and leaves us.

"Very. He can hardly move, he's delusional, he's dying. You've got to help. Will you come?"

"He asked for me then?"

"Of course. He trusts you over all the other doctors. You can help him."

"I'll come. I've got an appointment at the moment, but when it's done, I'll come." Angrily I hit his desk, the feeling running through my veins.

"HE MIGHT DIE BY THEN!" The man shrugs.

"Not my problem." He presses the call button, "Kindly escort him out." The door opens and the receptionist grips my arm attempting to drag me from the room.

"HAVE YOU NO HEART? HE'S GOING TO DIE! IT'S ALL YOUR DAMN FAULT!" The man throws me into the street. With frustration, I hail a cab. Godforsaken man. I'm going to kill him. The cab stops outside of the flat and I race up the stairs.

"He'll be along?" The voice is hardly above a whisper.

"Shortly."

"Good. Now I'm going to ask you to do something for me, and you'll ask no questions. Are we clear?"

"Clear." Anything. He's dying, it's the most I can do.

"Hide behind the couch."

"WHAT?"

"No questions. Hide behind the couch. For God's sake, don't move, don't speak, just hide." I oblige, squishing against the wall and sofa. The door opens.

"Mr. Holmes." Smith.

"Culverton."

"Your friend was right. You look perfectly retched. You're lucky I came at all."

"Why?"

"You know perfectly well. Ruined my reputation."

"Oh. It's the whole poisoning thing isn't it."

"No. You sent so many bad things about me around the world. I don't have much of a job now, and it's all thanks to you."

"You poisoned him."

"You couldn't prove it."

"You confess then?"

"Of course. It's not like you're going to live any longer after this."

"You killed him."

"Yes. I killed him. And this is my revenge." He opens the blinds, and allows the sun to come pouring in. Sherlock groans from the couch.

"Wait-"

"Hit you did it? Did you open the ivory box?"

"Silly prank. Pricked my finger is all." There is a pause. It's taking everything I've got to not leap over the edge of the couch and tackle the man. "Oh." There is the sound of something being lifted off the table.

"And I'm going to take this and there will be no evidence." God. He's killed Sherlock and now he's going to get away with it. Sherlock coughs quietly from the sofa, a sort of warning to me. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

"So that's it then?" It lightens my heart, Sherlock's voice is mostly back to normal.

"Of course." The door to the flat bangs open and there's a yelp. Sherlock sits up on the couch,

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, cuff him."

"Why?"

"He has a box in the right pocket of his jacket, he was trying to poison me with it." Mr. Smith protests loudly,

"Don't believe a word he says. He's sick. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Mr. Smith killed the man last week. A Mr. Roger Gilbert, at whose death you hired me. He poisoned him the same way he tried to poison me. A box sent in the post to be opened."

"Sherlock."

"There was no box found in the crime scene of course because he did the same thing he was doing with this. He took the box from the scene before he left."

"You can't believe anything he says!" Culverton says to Lestrade. I decide that I can stand it no longer and stand.

"Yes you can. I heard every damn word. He's lying Lestrade." He nods and takes Mr. Smith away. "Thank you for coming." I look at Sherlock's face. It's the closest to a smile I've ever seen on his face. "You okay?"

"'Course I am. I'm always okay. Mrs. Hudson is going to kill me." It hits me like a blow to the stomach.

"You aren't really sick are you?"

"Absolutely not!"

"What the Hell Sherlock?"

"If you had taken my pulse, and not seen an increase or decrease in pulse, you'd have suspected something. It had to be done. Though," he pauses, "I really didn't eat or drink anything for three days."

"Dinner?"

"My pleasure."

"You're paying."

"Of course."


	37. Loose Ends Part 1

_Sherlock_

"It's quite simple John, really. Shall I explain it to you again?" John shakes his head wearily,

"Just keep walking Sherlock. It's been a long day and I'm sick of running around town with you today."

"It's only noon. Shall we do lunch?" My phone rings. "Or not."

"Lestrade?"

"Always. Sherlock Holmes. Of course. We'll be right over."

"What's happened this time?"

"Looks like a jumper."

"A jumper eh?"

"You want to come? Unless you have work of course."

"I can afford to take off today."

"Thank you. It makes a difference, having someone on whom I can thoroughly rely." John just smiles.

_Two hours later_

"Well that was a waste." I shake my head in disbelief. "I can't believe that Lestrade called us down for _that_."

"Believe it." John grins at me, "But you have to admit, it was better than staying home all day."

"Yeah, actually, yeah it was." I smile too. The faces of the people passing us on the streets is quite stimulating. Everywhere, someone knew, someone I've never seen before. Except for that one. "John, stop."

"What Sherlock?"

"I know that kid." I push past the people to get to him. Michael, Hannah's friend. It looks like something is wrong though. He looks up as we come closer, worry written all over his face. "What's wrong?" I demand.

"Hannah is missing."

"What?"

"Hannah. Is. Missing." I step back,

"No she isn't."

"Stop Sherlock. Really. This isn't funny. She's missing. She didn't come to school today."

"She always skips."

"She didn't text me. She always texts me when she's skipping."

"Maybe it was the spur of the moment kind of thing. Stop looking so worried." John comes up behind me.

"Blimey Sherlock, you have _got _to wait for me before just taking off. Who's this?"

"This is Michael, Hannah's friend."

"I'm just going to pretend like I know who you're talking about."

"Friends of mine." Michael looks at me, glaring really.

"She's been missing for thirteen hours. I am going to find her, and then I'm going to punch you in the face."

"….. Okay….." Michael pushes past us and disappears in the crowd.

"Well that was weird." John says with a hint of a question in his voice. I ignore it.

"Lunch?"

_Two Hours Later_

John's engrossed in a book, sitting comfortably in his usual chair near the fire place, dull. I stare into Yorik's eye sockets. "What?" I ask in an offended tone. John looks up, confused, from his book.

"Are you okay?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're talking to a skull."

"And you're reading a book."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I look up at the ceiling a minute before pulling a very sarcastic face,

"Oh. I thought we were stating the obvious." John rolls his eyes and begins to read his book again. There is a kind of disturbance from downstairs. Mrs. Hudson is protesting against something. Probably because I left her stove on again, or maybe it's because the cat wants back in. I roll my eyes and settle more comfortably into the cushions of the couch. Bored. "BORED."

"OI!" Mrs. Hudson shouts from down the stairs. John looks toward the door as it bursts open.

"Mrs. Hudson! What have I said about knocking first?" I cry as I sit up, turning to face the door. Not Mrs. Hudson. "Michael."

"Sherlock." He tosses a piece of paper vaguely in my direction. "Proof enough?"

_Author's Note: Okay guys, this is to tie up Hannah and Michael's story, and a friend commissioned me to write it. WELL it was an idea that I kind of stole. And he's been pestering me about it. So basically, I'm forcing myself to write it because I've got nothing for this part of the story, that's why it's only like six hundred words. Maybe a bit less. The next part will probably be longer. It's a four parter that ties up the loose ends. I'm going to go make some cookies and then I'm going to a celebrate having Friday off by going to a friend's house. I've been checking out a new band, 'The Films'. They are pretty good. They are what I've been listening too while I wrote this, so if it sucks, I blame them. And I apologize in advance for the horribleness of the next four chapters, because I have a feeling they are going to suck. I blame my computer because it keeps doing stupid stuff, like deleting the first thousand words I had written for this so I had to start all OVER and it SUCKED. _

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious _


	38. Loose Ends Part 2

_Sherlock_

"What is it?" I ask, holding my hand out for the paper. Michael chucks it at me, and it tumbles pathetically to the floor. I give him a look before bending down to pick it up. I unfold the crinkles, smoothing it out and then turning it over. "What is this?" I ask again. Michael shrugs.

"You tell me. And then we'll talk."

"Still angry I see." He doesn't reply. The notebook paper looks ordinary, torn from a notebook that anyone would carry. On a hunch I pull my notebook out from the inside of my jacket pocket. If I didn't know better it could have come from my notebook. "Where did you find this?"

"Under the kitchen table."

"Are you positive it came from her's?"

"Without a doubt. I helped write that page." I nod. Makes sense.

"Are you sure that she didn't just rip it out on purpose?"

"Oh I know she did." He says it with force.

"Then wh-?"

"She never tears _anything _out of her notebooks. Ever. It's a rule she has."

"So you-"

"Brought it to you. You have to help me Sherlock." John stands up but I take no notice.

"Take me there."

"Sherlock-"

"John, listen. She helped me, I've got to help her. Call it honour or whatever, it's only fair. I promise I'll come straight back if it's not worthy of my expertise." I turn to Michael, "I trust you didn't touch anything."

"Nothing but the paper under the table. Otherwise everything is exactly as I found it." John sighs and I face him.

"You can come if you want. Not that you can do anything, but I do find it nice to have you around." He rolls his eyes and grabs his coat.

"Let's go then." I wrap my coat around me and motion for Michael to go down first. I lock up the flat and hail a cab. Michael clambers in first, telling the driver the address and I close the door behind me. The ride is quiet until Michael looks over John.

"So this is-" I cut him off,

"Yes." He nods.

"He's different than I had imagined." John looks at me curiously. What? What had I said?

"What John?"

"You told him about me?" Again with the tone of surprise, it's almost as bad as the look on his face.

"No John. I didn't."

"Well then….?" A look of realization comes across his face, "Oh. I see. That was sarcasm."

"Now you're getting it." The rest of the ride is silent except for the fidgeting of Michael as he looks out the window. "Do you think you could stop that?" I ask, annoia peppering my voice. What the hell is that about? There's nothing he can do about it now anyway.

"Sorry." He mumbles. He flings the door open as soon as the cab stops. "Come on." He pulls a key out from the mail slot and opens the door for us. John follows after me and Michael closes the door. Nothing is out of order, at least not that I can see.

"Oh. He's very good."

"He?" Michael and John ask at the same time.

"What?" Had I said that out loud? John shakes his head, the shadow of a smile on his lips, and I look at him from the corner of my eye with a quizzical look. Only one man could do such a fantastic job of cleaning up after himself. Only one man. Michael's sudden shout of surprise draws me from my thoughts. "What?" I ask before coming up behind him. I look over his shoulder at the couch. A note lies on the cushions.

"It's addressed to you." John says before reaching around Michael to pick it up. I stop him.

"I should probably…" John withdraws, nodding.

"Probably. I mean… Wouldn't want…."

"Yeah." Every tendon in my body is shrieking at me to back away. A thousand and one booby trap ideas flood my head but I push them away. He wouldn't do that. That would be stupid. Normal printer paper. I hold it to my nose. Smells fine. The block printing on the front of the paper says all I need to know. 'SHERLOCK' I turn it over.

"What does it say?" Michael asks.

"Shall I read it?" John asks me before taking the note from me. He turns it to the front and reads aloud, "Sherlock." Then he flips it to the back to continue reading, "You know. Come and play."

"Stop." I say while clearing a space on the couch. I sit down and put my head in my hands. It's happening again. Oh God, it's happening again. Michael glares at me.

"She's my friend! I have to know what he says, whoever he is."

"You don't want to know Michael. Trust me."

"I am going to find her. With, or without you." It's happening again. John shoots me a look before continuing.

"Two more will die, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You know where to find me. I know you're bored. How about a riddle if you're having trouble?"

"Stop." I say again. This is how he works. This is what he does.

"Keep reading John. I need to hear the riddle."

"Stop. John. Stop." I stand up, towering over them both. I can't rise to the bribe again. Not this time. People almost died last time. Not this time. If I don't do anything, he'll get bored. I know him. He'll get bored and give up. He won't kill her for no reason, and she'll go back home and everything will be fine. I can't… Not this time. "Just don't John."

"What's wrong?" His eyes show concern. He drops the paper and looks at me. "What is it Sherlock?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." John swears.

"I hate when you do that Sherlock. It's not nearly fair. You treat me like I'm stupid or something, but I can see right through you. You've got something on your mind and you aren't going to share with me. Fine! I get that, but sometimes a little honesty would be nice! It's not like I can't help or anything." He turns angrily and walks out the door, slamming it behind him. Michael bends down and picks up the paper, reading it to himself.

"Sherlock." I close my eyes to try and block out the world.

"Don't."

"You have to let me try." I sit down again and he looks me in the face.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"Who is 'M'?"

"Moriarty. You don't want to continue that sentence. Seriously. Last time…" My voice trails off as I remember the hell he put me through when he kidnapped John.

"He stole John didn't he?"

"Yes."

"You saved him though."

"A mistake I will not make again. I lost my sight for a week."

"That's nothing compared to losing a friend."

"John was almost killed."

"Hannah _will_ be killed." He glares at me, a look more of determination rather than anger.

"You have no idea what you are getting yourself into."

"Neither do you." I stand up, staring down at him now instead of looking up.

"Is that a threat?" Obviously.

"What do you think?" He's challenging me. Granted I'm not his father and I can't stop him from doing something he will regret later, but I have to at least try.

"This isn't one of your damn books Michael! THIS IS REAL LIFE! PEOPLE DIE!"

"And you can sometimes stop it!"

"Not when it comes to Moriarty."

"You would do the same for John!" That stops me cold. Anger floods my system.

"I did." My voice is low, and dangerous. Michael just looks at me. Without another word I brush past him and join John on the steps. We don't say anything as we walk side by side down the street.

"Sorry." It's barely above a whisper and I nearly missed it, but he had said it.

"For what?" He gestures back to the house. "It's not your fault John."

"Doesn't mean I can't be sorry. What do you think you will do?"

"Me? Nothing."

"What do you think Michael will do?"

"He's going to be an idiot. I'll have to stop him."

"For what it's worth, thank you."

"For what?"

"When he got me." I look at him a moment.

"You're welcome." No one had ever really thanked me before. I have never wanted a hug more in my entire life. I don't like personal contact very much, but sometimes I need a hug. I stop walking and John looks at me curiously.

"What's wrong?"

"Thank you." I murmur before wrapping my arms around him. He stands there shocked for a moment before hugging me back. It only lasts a second but it had happened.

"For what Sherlock?"

"Saying thank you. Obviously." He rolls his eyes before hailing a cab. A smile creeps across my face, but I instantly wipe it when he turns back to me. "We're going to a café."

"What?"

"I need to help in every way I can. Moriarty said that there was something waiting in a place they always visit. At first I thought, 'School.' And then it occurred to me that they go to the café more often than not, so that's where we're going."

John smiles. "I thought so."

* * *

_Author's Note: Can I say something in my defense? My computer was seriously broke for like a week. I was going to have it up on Tuesday, but the computer was still broken, and I couldn't get to the library because I was working on a project for my creative writing class. A short story actually, and I still wasn't done, so I didn't get to work on it on Friday when the computer was actually fixed because I had a friend over. Anyway, here it is now, 1,670 words of story, and there is more to come. Hopefully soon. Hopefully I won't procrastinate more. School's almost over so I'll have more time after I take a little break in June, and half of July, because I'll be on vacation. I WILL BE BACK. This isn't good bye because there are still two chapters and probably one last teaser because I'll have time until June. Now I'll be with my cousins, but I might be able to get them to let me type sometimes. MAYBE. So, we shall see. _

_Until Gallifrey is free, (and the next chapter is up... -.-)_

Time Lord Victorious


	39. Loose Ends Part 3

_Sherlock_

I don't think John trusts me. Not on this one. He messes with the straw wrapping on the table next to me as I pace impatiently.

"Are you sure Sherlock?"

"No." I'm not sure about anything anymore.

"Then what are we doing here?"

"Waiting."

"For what?"

"The opportune moment."

"Michael left hours ago."

"I know John, I'm not an idiot. Moriarty won't try anything until we're there."

"Where?"

"The pool." John throws the little bit of paper into the bin and stands in front of me, causing me to stop pacing and look at him instead.

"You never mentioned the pool."

"You never asked." He fidgets and I find myself worrying about him. "You don't have to come John, I can do this myself."

"No Sherlock. You can't. You like to _think _you can do everything yourself, but you can't. I'm coming with you." I look at him hard in the face, he's lying. He's not okay with it, but I'll let him think he is.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I'm coming with you."

"We could always stop by the flat on the way, and you can stay home…"

"I'll be fine Sherlock. I'm more worried about you."

"Me? I'm always okay."

"So you say." I smile and hold the door for him. This is why he's my friend. My best friend. "Do you know what's going to happen?"

"I have an idea."

"But you aren't sure?"

"Hardly."

"Whatever happens. It's not your fault Sherlock." I nod, trying to believe him. I did this anyway. I started the whole thing. I messed with Moriarty, and he bites back. I should have… Left things alone. But OH NO, I have to go and stick my nose in places it doesn't belong. I have to get my friends hurt, the people that I care about but pretend I don't.

"John, I'd like you to stay home."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not going to get hurt."

"You could."

"So could you."

"I'll be fine."

"No you won't. Plus, we already passed the flat." Why does he have to be so insistent?

"We could always…"

"No Sherlock. We started this together, and we're going to finish it together."

"Thank you John." We round the corner and John holds the door to the pool open for me. I take a cautious step, expecting the red light from a sniper to light my face. It didn't. I walk in fully and motion for John to follow suit. Soon we're standing side by side in front of the pool. It's empty. That's a surprise. Where the hell is Jim?

As if for an answer the door on the other side of the room opens noisily and Jim waltzes in.

"Sherlock!" He says it with mock surprise, "I didn't expect you to be here so soon!"

"Oh God. Just shut up Jim."

"Is someone being a little grumpy today?" He frowns and pulls at my cheeks. I don't move, but just glare at him.

"Leave him alone." John says it quietly, but I could hear him clear as day.

"Tisk tisk, Sherlock! You brought your pet with you. I'd have thought, since what happened on the Thames you'd have left him behind. One always cries when their dog dies. Not out of sadness though, loneliness."

"Shut up."

"Oh did someone put something in your drink? You certainly are being…. Agitated?" I roll my eyes. I don't need this. Not right now. I have more important things to do than battle with this imbecilic child.

"You're acting like a child."

"Why have you come here Sherlock?"

"You asked me to." John inches closer to me as Moriarty circles us.

"And so you came?"

"You have a friend of mine."

"I thought you didn't have friends."

"I owe her a favour."

"Do you now?"

"What have you done with them Jim?"

"You've called me Jim."

"Would you prefer if I called you James? Or M?" Jim shudders.

"Fine. I'll show you. You won't like it though."

"Will I ever like anything you do?" He smiles in response and leads us towards one of the stalls.

"It's a little bit cramped, but I'm sure you'll manage." I refuse to acknowledge what he said and take a seat near the wall. A television is pushed into the stall and Moriarty turns it on.

"I presume this is live…."

"Always for you darling." The image of Hannah tied to a wall in some further part of the pool is slightly disturbing. "Just wait Sherlock, my dear. It gets better. It's like a play I've written just for you." I sigh in boredom. This is ridiculous.

"Sherlock." John grips my arm and points at the screen. I take a look and notice nothing new at first and then I see him. Michael.

"I see you've spotted the main character."

"You're just going to let him spoil your fun?" I ask in disbelief. Jim just looks at me and smiles,

"No my dear. He is my fun." The words hit me like a train. What the hell? He runs over to Hannah and she looks up.

"_OH GOD! MICHAEL! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" She screams at him and shrinks against the wall. Michael runs up to her and attempts to untie her._

"_I was thinking that my friend needed help and that I could help her."_

"_Oh Michael, you IDIOT!"_

"_What?"_

"_Did you think this was for you?" He lets down her arm and starts on the other one._

"_No."_

"_Do you know what you just walked into? If you had just left me here…" _

"_Never."_

"_Do you know what you've done? Did you get Sherlock involved?"_

"_How else could I find you?" He throws the rope across the room and the two embrace._

"That's my cue it would seem. Keep watching Sherlock. Keep watching." Moriarty leaves like a ghost and appears on the screen a moment later.

"How-?" John asks, but I shush him.

"_Such a cute couple! Did you think that I would let you go by unnoticed? Come to find your little girlfriend? Oh it's so cute! How could I resist!" He faces the camera and waves. "Are you watching Sherlock?" Hannah looks surprised._

"_Sherlock?" She asks, facing the camera now. "GET OUT." Then she runs at Jim and kicks him in the shin. "YOU GIT!" Jim rubs his knee and smiles. _

"_How long have you been down here my dear?"_

"_Nearly twenty four hours!" Michael stands beside Hannah and takes a long look at Jim. _

"_Come on Hannah. Lets go."_

"_No. Michael, you have no idea what you've done. There is no WAY he's letting us leave. Isn't that right?" Jim stands and faces the camera again. _

"_Correct."_


	40. Loose Ends Part 4

_Sherlock_

"Oh God." I shush John by nudging him. "Aren't you going to do something about it Sherlock?"

"What can I do?" I hiss angrily. "NOTHING. Right now, I'm useless. I need to see, need to hear. I can work this out John. Trust me." He doesn't say anything but continues to focus on the television screen.

"_You see Sherlock, here is your choice. Under the bench you currently sit on is a gun. The same one you brought on our first meeting. You remember that one? Yes of course you do. Shoot John, and they go free. Simple. You don't? They die."_

"_Schieße. What kind of choice is that?" Hannah shouts behind Moriarty. "Sherlock. I know what you're about to do. And I don't blame you."_

John looks at me a moment. "What are you going to do?" I just look at him in the eyes.

"I don't know."

"_Sherlock?" It was Michael speaking now. "We'll find a way out. I got us in this mess. I'll get us out."_

"Sherlock? What are we going to do?"

"I don't know John. For once I just don't know!"

"Couldn't we walk out of here?"

"Not a chance. Jim's probably got this stall surrounded by snipers waiting to pick us off if we just leave."

"Well how will they know if we didn't watch the others get shot?"

"I'm not sure he's going to shoot them John."

"What do you think then?"

"The pool."

"Yes?"

"The pool where Carl Powers died. Not a bit by accident. He's repeating himself. He must be so bored."

"_Good Sherlock. Good. I see where you're going and I like it." Moriarty spoke, looking right at the camera. "You were right by the way. Right about the stall being surrounded. Very smart of you to work that out."_

"Good Lord. He can hear us."

"Obviously." John glares at me. "And you can bet it has camera's in it too."

"_Good. Now my dear. Have you decided anything yet?"_

"What the hell Jim? What the hell? What are you thinking?"

"_I'm thinking, 'Oh, I'm so bored, this sounds like fun!' And now I'm thinking that you should probably hurry up and choose or you'll end up dead as well."_

"No I won't. You like having me around too much."

"_Oh stop it."_

John leans closer to me and whispers, "Any bright ideas would be most welcome now."

"I'm working on it. I've got something in mind, but I don't think it will work." I whisper back.

"Anything Sherlock. I'll need everything you have."

"Get the gun." John nods and reaches under the bench and after some wrestling pulls the gun free. I hold my hand out for it.

"What are you going to do with it?" He asks fear barely touches the edges of his voice.

"You'll see." Two options. One, shoot self. Bad choice. Two. Shoot the television and deal with a sudden change in plan from Moriarty. Better. "Are you ready John?" He closes his eyes in response. I cock the gun and point it at his chest, lead him on, lead everyone one, and maybe get away with it. "Sorry." I say loud enough for Moriarty to hear. Without a word I whirl on the bench and squeeze the trigger. The television screen explodes and glass flies in every direction. John opens his eyes.

"_That_ was your plan?"

"Well, did you have anything better? Stay here, wait five minutes before following me out."

"Why?"

"Everyone is confused. You should be to."

_Moriarty_

He shot my damned television. How the hell did this get out of hand? How did I not know that he might have done that? You idiot! I grab Hannah by the arm and drag her down the hall, Michael trailing behind. Hannah fights and Michael tries to wrench her from me. I signal one of my men to hold him and follow me.

"There's been a change in plan. Only one thing for me to do now." I say, to no one in particular. What an idiot. God I hate Sherlock Holmes. Screwing with my plans.

"Where are we going?" Michael asks angrily.

"Somewhere he can't find us." Simple and sweet. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are coming for me.

_John_

I can't believe that I thought he would actually shoot me. John, get a grip. It's Sherlock Holmes, he might be cold, but he's not that detached. I know I know. But still. Get over it.

"JOHN!" My name is shouted across the pool and I look up to find Sherlock beckoning to me. "Come on! We're losing him!" Sighing I run around the pool and catch up with Sherlock. "You didn't really think I would shoot you?"

"No. Sherlock, I didn't." Flat out LIE, but he doesn't have to know that.

"Liar." He makes a face before running down the hall after Moriarty. The only way Moriarty could have gone.

_Sherlock_

He lied to me. Don't dwell on that Sherlock. Moriarty has your friends, acquaintances actually, but could be friends.

"You still have that gun?" John asks me. I look down .

"Obviously."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Shoot Jim."

"Is that wise?"

"Did you lie?" No response.

"Do you really think that will solve anything Sherlock?" This time I don't answer. No. It won't solve anything. And it would make me more bored than ever.

_Moriarty_

"Another change in plan. You, put him down." The man puts Michael down and I let go of Hannah's arm. New plan, new rules. _MY _rules. "Have a nice day!" I shout before bursting out the door and into the night air.

_Sherlock_

"HANNAH?" Michael is calling out down the hall. Wait…. Where's Jim? "HANNAH?"

"Michael! WAIT!" I shout after him as he heads for the door. Whatever Jim is doing, it's not good.

"Hannah ran after him!" Thought as much.

"Come on John!" Hannah is standing at the edge of the curb, looking after a car. "Hannah?" She sighs before turning to us.

"He got away."

"I know."

"We're not the same anymore."

"I know."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"Can we go home?" I nod before turning to Hannah and Michael,

"Can you take it from here?"

"Of course."

"Come on John. Time to go home."

"I need a drink." John laments as he climbs into the cab. A small smile creases my face. That's my doctor.

_Midnight_

A darkened room , a glint of a needle and a muffled scream. One down, two to go.

_Half past midnight_

Hannah drags her eyes open seeing nothing.

"Michael?" She calls quietly, hearing her voice echoing in the emptiness.

"Present."

"Shit."

"Took the words right out of my mouth."

"Where do you think-?"

"Moriarty is? No idea."

"Can you see?"

"Nothing."

"Shit. Neither can I. Can you move?"

"Nope."

"Shit again. This just keeps getting better and better."

"Any idea what's going to happen to us?"

"Nothing good."

"Thanks for clearing that up."

"The pool?"

"At a guess."

"A good one." Moriarty's voice breaks the near silence.

"Oh God."

"Not here at the moment. Leave a message." Michael's voice drips with sarcasm,

"Ha. Ha. Ha. What's the plan then?"

"You'll find out very soon." The sting of a needle presses into the arms of the two teens. "Don't scream though."

"Is that-?"

"Cyanide? Yes."

"Oh really? That's it then? Kill us with poison!"

"Oh no! Where's the fun in that? No no no no! I've got something better in mind for you. More painful even." Hannah fidgets against her bonds, or at least she tries to.

"Oh God. I can't move."

"Oh." Michael says quietly before his vocal cords freeze.

"You see it don't you? Of course you do." Moriarty nods to the henchmen he brought along. "Throw them into the pool." Then he turns and leaves, the doors banging behind him. Another day in the life of James Moriarty.

_Author's Note: Sorry it took so long guys! My computer seriously hates me. School is nearly out so I'll time to work on 'This Should Be Enticing' before I go to Arizona. I already have some ideas. I'll start tomorrow after school, how's that._

_HOW ABOUT THAT BLOODY CLIFFHANGER AT THE END OF 'THE ALMOST PEOPLE'? That's horrible! I hate whoever wrote it, but I hate Steven Moffat even more! Grr. _

_Anyway. Tell me what you think, be on the lookout for 'This Should Be Enticing'. This was a lot of fun, I know I had fun. It was brilliant. Any suggestions for future drabbles, ect, please let me know! PM me or Leave me something in the comments. THANK YOU FOR READING! You lot are brilliant! Without you lot, this wouldn't be possible. Thank you so much! Be on the lookout for 'This Should Be Enticing' and I'll see you all tomorrow! :D_

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

Time Lord Victorious


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